


Solas and the Mistaken Identity

by Lithosaurus



Series: Owl, Raven, Robin [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: But also from his POV which is fun, F/M, Former one-shot, POV Solas, Solas is the ancient Elvhen god of angst, Solas-critical, Trespasser DLC, dread wolf reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2018-06-10 02:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6934315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lithosaurus/pseuds/Lithosaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In hindsight, it’s not that hard to clue in that something’s off with Solas. Which is what Kai Lavellan does. But she doesn’t quite go far enough.<br/>-Can be read independent of series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pride

 “Solas,” She doesn’t say it like a name. “That’s 'pride' in old Elvhen _._ ”

“Correct.” He looked up from his book but didn’t stand.

“Care to take a walk with me?” She lifted her eyes to the level above them. They could both hear Dorian having a polite, if stilted, conversation with Helisma.

“Of course.” He set the book down and followed her to the western door. Usually, he enjoyed spending time with Lavellan but he suspected this wouldn’t be another discussion of elven lore or the finer points of magic. They crossed the walkway to the battlements through Cullen’s office. She made no move to take his hand or arm. Irrationally, childishly, he feared that she was going to end whatever this was between them.

The nebulous, foolish affection he felt for her could only lead to pain yet he couldn’t help but want something that felt real. Everything in this world seemed so cold, emotionless, and disjointed. She felt like the only person in the world at times, even if she was no more connected to the Fade than the rest of this age.

They stopped on the battlements over the stables. It had a view of both the valley and the courtyard. Lavellan paid attention to neither.

“Vhenan?”

“I need to ask you a question.” This was the Inquisitor speaking, not Lavellan. “Either tell the truth or don’t answer. Just don’t lie to me. You’re not from some village north of Haven, are you?”

“Not exactly.” Solas’s mind raced, trying to puzzle out what her line of thinking was, what clues she had picked up on and what conclusions she could have drawn from them.

She continued “And your name, Solas, is that who you are or _what_ you are?”

“It is not simp-” She turned away from him with a disgusted sigh. She didn't wait for his explanation.

“It is not simple. I-” he faltered. He could see the tension in her shoulders and clenched fists. His past careless honesty had caught up with him. Any excuse he tried to create now would seem false but any clear answer would jeopardize his goal even further. She was an intelligent woman and possessed an immense amount of power including the only usable portion of his focus imbedded in her hand. Any misstep he made now could be irreversible.

“I have not told you many things.” He wanted to add, ‘ _ma vhenan’_ to the sentence but that would only hurt more

“Are you a demon?”

“The distinction of-”

“Creators, Solas!” She burst out and whipped around to face him. “Are you possessing someone? Is there a mage in there whose body you’ve taken?”

“No! Of course not. To do that- take someone’s freedom so completely would be-” Wouldn’t be so different from what he had once done in the past. Indistinct faces with vallaslin flashed in his memory. It was his vallaslin and his mistakes.

“It would mean you’re a demon.” She spat. “Word choice aside, taking an unwilling host would change you. And Wisdom twisted becomes so _las_.”

“I would _never_ force myself on someone like that.” He insisted. “And it would require me to have originally been a spirit.”

“Then what are you?”

“I cannot answer that question.” Which wasn’t a lie, even if it wasn’t entirely true.

“Do you even know? Or are you actually doing me the respect of not lying to my face?”

“Vhenan, I promise you, I will tell you the truth that I can.” This was a mistake. After years of planning and millenia of pain, he was risking it because he didn’t want to lie to her, this misguided, misinformed child.

But he cared for her.

“Then explain.” She crossed her arms over her chest. Some of the anger had left her voice.

He met her eyes and drew in a breath.

“I am far older than I have let you assume. Older, perhaps, than I should be. I have spent years in the Fade, this world, and places in between. I am not a spirit and certainly not a demon."

“But what _are_ you? Are you like Cole?” Lavellan took a step closer. She sounded more like herself with her curiosity firmly in the forefront.

“I doubt there is anything quite like Cole. And I know there is nothing like me, not anymore." This was dangerously close to the whole truth.

Her face softened and she took his hand. “Not anymore?”

“The world has changed, things that once were have been lost.”

“I’m sorry.”

He laughed. “You didn’t know them.”

“Solas, you don’t have to be alone.” But he did, at least for now. Any chance he had of not dying alone, of returning to Uthenera for a final time, had ended when he put up the Veil without realizing the consequences.

These friendships, this home, this relationship; it was all temporary. Just like everything else in this fleeting world. Attachment now would only mean more pain later.

“Solas?” Lavellan cupped his face in her palms. He brought his eyes back into focus on her face.  Everything was fleeting. Even pain. Especially her life.

He was tired. Centuries after creating the Veil, the strain still ached in his bones and he longed to sleep longer. Here and now, he wanted the pain to stop, to be happy for a moment. He let himself slump forward into her arms and rest his head on her shoulder. She pulled him in tight but said nothing.

This was temporary but he let himself have it.


	2. Wisdom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for a one shot.

_“Hasahren”_ Again, she didn’t say it like a name. “That’s wisdom.”

“That’s a possible translation. The Common Tongue has one word that approximately means many things in old Elvhen.” He couldn’t help but feel almost relieved that she was starting such a conversation with him.

Their relationship had changed after they spoke on the battlements. He couldn’t hope to understand her thoughts but she didn’t seem to trust him anymore. Now, she watched him. It was a subtle change but after months of watching her first, he could feel it as clearly as if she openly declared she didn’t know who he was.

She didn’t, if he was being honest with himself.

Walking up to him and opening with that word…this was going to be another difficult conversation. He had dreaded her reaction for the last few days but now that the consequences were starting he was relieved. If she told him to leave or called him a demon, it would at least be over.

“Was that the name of your friend?” His head snapped up. She was sitting on the small chaise against the wall with a convenient space beside her. This wasn’t The Inquisitor speaking. He had assumed it would be when he heard her walk in but this…This was Kai Lavellan. Just Lavellan. She was still watching him closely but not with suspicion or distrust, just concern hidden enough behind a blank face to be polite.

He leaned back in his chair and played her question over in his head. Before she had accused him of being a demon, of possessing someone’s body, he would have taken it at face value. It simply would have been her asking about a friend he had lost and reaching out to him.

“They were your friend, Solas.” She rolled her eyes when he delayed. “I just-” She shook her head and rose to her feet.

He spoke before she reached the door. “It wasn’t named that. It didn’t go by a name.”

She stopped. “It didn’t have a name?”

“There is not much need in the Fade. Most spirits are what they embody. There is no need for names to clarify.  Interactions do not require an identifier, who they are- or which spirit they are, I should say- is obvious without a unique name. It was a Spirit of Wisdom. Those are rare enough that we didn’t need anything more.”

She didn’t say anything. Before, there would have another stream of question to confirm or clarify what he had said but there was a new awkwardness between them.

“I’m sorry.”

“So you’ve said.”

“Not just for your friend. For- this.” She gave a broad gesture between them.

“Yes, this.” ‘This’ was awkward and uncomfortable and not at all like the ease they had had before.

“I don’t want to lose what was between us, Solas.” She spoke softly and slowly. “I know things have changed but we don’t have to start over.”

He wished she was right. That conversation on the battlements had been a point of no return. She was correct in saying that things had changed. He had resolved to be far more vigilant in his actions and words, to remain a step back from the people in Skyhold, to recommit himself to his goal. His foolish hope at having something could be nothing more. His moment of weakness and fatigue had passed. But the idea that he didn’t need to lose what he had gained…it was tempting.

Again, he had waited too long to respond and she filled the silence. “You don’t have to- I just want to talk again. I’ve missed that. Care to walk with me?”

They walked along the battlements once again. The valley stretched below them on one side and the courtyard of Skyhold bustled on the other. It was nearly identical to the day when she asked him what he was but it felt wildly different.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. When I asked you that question.” Her breath turned to white smoke in front of her face as she spoke. “I was…uncertain of what to do.”

“What gave me away?”

She gave him an incredulous look. “Do you want me to tally it up? If you want a single moment, it would have to be what happened to your friend but looking back…You’re a bit of an enigma.”

“So I’ve gathered.”

She gave a little half-laugh and pushed herself up onto a gap in the parapets. He slotted into space next to her. Below them, they could see Iron Bull drilling a collection of new soldiers. Every once and a while his booming voice would reach them with the wind.

“How long did you know your friend?” She asked after a few tense moments.

“Centuries.” Millennia would be more accurate but he wasn’t sure how much information he could truly give. Once again, the self-destructive urge to lay himself open itched at his tongue. He wanted to speak of meeting the spirit when they were both young and fresh, when Pride and Wisdom were both devoted to the good of the People. She would have loved stories of Arlathan.

Or at least, some stories. Her curiosity pulled her to the truth but she would never accept it. Her Dalish pride in misremembered fragments would sour the whole affair.

“Solas?” She leaned forward to catch his eye. Just days ago they had been in nearly this same spot and she had demanded to know if he was possessing someone. Now, she was trying to reach out once again. He had seen what happens to the kind-hearted powerful and he knew what would happen in the end. He couldn’t do this.

Her fingers slid into his empty hand. “What’s wrong, lethallin?”

“I’m sorry, Inquisitor, I must return to my work.”

He pulled his hand free and walked away before he could see her face. He listened but no footsteps followed.

\--

 “So tell me, Chuckles, is this mood you’re in just you or does it involve our fearless leader as well?”

“I was unaware that I was in a mood, Child of the Stone.”

“See, that’s what I’m talking about.” Varric tutted. “You might not be one for laughing in the face of death but you’ve been much more…you, lately.”

“Truly, I can see why you have won such accolades for your written word.” Solas snapped.

“Just giving me more proof here.”

“It is of no concern of yours.”

“Other than the fact that I have to walk past you if I want to reach the library.” Varric shot back. “I must admit, I got use to an empty room between me and my scheduled weekly pestering of Sparkler.”

Solas shut his book with a snap and glared at the dwarf. “Is there a point to this line of questioning or are you merely here because Dorian is not?”

“Well, you two have seemed to switch places of late. Just not in _every_ capacity, knowing our favorite not-Magister.”  If Varric intended to get under his skin, he would have to try harder. Not much harder, but harder.

“If this change is going to be permanent, I want to reschedule my weekly routine around it.”

“You will have to ask our ‘fearless leader’ when she returns." A treacherous part of his brain reminded him that her return could be an ‘if’. He stamped down on it. Rationally, Dorian was an excellent mage and could protect her just as well in combat as he could with his diminished abilities.

“I’m not asking our fearless leader. I’m asking you.”

“What was your original question again? It was in regards to my current ‘mood’, yes?” Solas snapped.

“That’s it.” Varric confirmed cheerfully. “I’m asking the broody elf directly this time.”

“Perhaps my ‘mood’ has to do with the fact that we are facing a resurrected ancient being wielding the power of false gods and actively attempting to destroy this world! Perhaps it has to do with the thousands of lives that will be irrevocably harmed while we attempt to mediate a territory dispute between squabbling children! Perhaps it has to do with the fact that I’m answering inane questions while I should be finding any possible weakness our enemy could have!”

The library was deathly quiet when he finished. He was incredibly glad that Dorian wasn’t in Skyhold. Overhearing such a break in control would make the human insufferable for weeks.

Varric nodded as if considering a perfectly calm response.

“So it does involve Kai?”

Solas snorted in disgust and returned to his book.

\--

“Varric pulled me aside when I returned.” She started casually.

Because of course he did. Being several heads shorter than everyone else wouldn’t stop him from getting his nose in everyone’s business.

“I assume he had many interesting things to say.”

“Solas, look at me.” She sighed. He turned away from the paints he was mixing and faced her. Her arms were crossed across her chest.

“What’s wrong?” She demanded. “What do you expect me to do? You’re acting like you’re scared of me.”

“You wield a fair amount of power, Inquisitor.” He spoke carefully. “You seemed more than a little displeased with me. You can understand why I would be wary.”

She scowled. “I meant what I said in Haven. I won’t let you get dragged off by the Chantry just for helping.” She insisted. “And if I ever reach the point where people should fear me over- over a _misunderstanding_ , we have bigger issues.”

She moved away from the doorway to his workbench. “It stung to know you hadn’t trusted me. And not knowing…I was ‘displeased’.”

“Was?”

“Was.” She stepped into his personal space. “I didn’t want to scare you away, Solas. I care about you and don’t want to lose you. You said you were willing to take a chance on us. Things haven’t changed that much.”

“I see. I greatly value our friendship. Seeing it end over a ‘misunderstanding’ as you say-”

His only warning was an annoyed sigh.

Her kiss was hard and pressing. It wasn’t the ginger touch of lips from prior encounters, it was a pragmatic gesture. He jerked back in surprise only to find her hands gripping his tunic kept them together. Another second and he gave in. He moved one hand to her hip and the other to the back of her head.

He was weak in so many senses of the word. He couldn’t even use his own focus or assume his other forms and now he was giving in to base urges and emotion. This was a mistake, he kept telling himself that.

Her lips were warm under his and a corresponding sense of warmth spread through him. He had sneered at his own decision on the battlements before but now, with her back in his arms, he remembered why he had made it. He wanted this, wanted it for himself and his own satisfaction. It was so long since he had let himself have anything for himself rather than the good of the People.

Kai pulled back. “You’re a frustrating person, you know. I hope that cleared things up.”

He chuckled and pressed another kiss to her forehead.

“This truly won’t be an obstacle for you?”

“You’re still you and, evidently, you’re more than old enough to make your own decisions. I can understand the instinct to keep secrets to protect yourself. Just-tell me if something happens. You can trust me, alright?”

“Anyone else in this time and they’d be terrified I’d steal their minds, kill their children, and salt their fields.” He laughed bitterly. “Or try to use me.”

“Well, I’ve never farmed, I don’t have children, and I trust you not to harm me. I’m afraid I’m already using you for your research abilities.”

He would never harm her, he promised himself. He knew he would break that promise. Something would happen. The Anchor would shift again, he’d be discovered, Corypheus would lose his focus. Eventually, the whole truth would come out and she would know he had kept the truth from her.

But did it have to be so soon? He could wait, he could delay a few more decades and live with her, try to survive in the hellish world he had created. She could live and then, when he could delay no longer, he would right this world and she could live like one of the People should.

He pressed his forehead to hers and held her close. What was a plan if it didn’t change? This was a change he would gladly accept.


	3. Heart

_“Vhenan,”_ His heart skipped a beat when she said it, appropriately. “Are you going to be warm enough in that?”

“Yes, thank you for your concern.” He smiled at her.

“He runs around without shoes ‘n you’re worrying about his jacket being warm?” Sera snorted.

“Are _you_ going to be warm enough?” Lavellan shot back. “Legging aren’t exactly winter weather clothes. I can get you another jacket-”

“Stop it!” Sera chucked a pine cone at her half-heartedly. It soared over her shoulder. “You don’t do this to Bull and he runs around with his tits on display at all times.”

“The day I tell Bull to cloth his magnificent bosom is the day that being Inquisitor’s gone to my head.”

Cassandra finished speaking to the requisition officer and joined their cluster with her helmet under her arm.

“Heads up, Seeker. Better put that on or Inky’s gonna make you wear earmuffs or somethin’.” Sera said.

Cassandra looked to Lavellan for an explanation but she just shook her head. “We’re ready to head out?”

“Yes,” The Seeker said slowly, probably still wondering why earmuffs were involved. “The merchant marked out the location of the cave they’re most likely using.” She handed the map to Lavellan who inspected it.

She nodded and handed it back. “Thank you, Cassandra.”

The last of the Red Templar camps in Crestwood was exactly where the local scouts said they were. Clearing out the twisted men mining the tainted lyrium didn’t take long. However, by the time they had sealed two more rifts, fought off a small band of over-confident bandits, and confirmed that the dragon squatting in the ruins was indeed still very large and very intimidating, night was falling.

It was dangerously dark when they returned to the nearest camp and settled down for the night. All of them were ready for a semi-permanent bed-like sleeping surface and a full night without any watch shifts. As Lavellan and Cassandra spoke with the soldiers stationed there, he found a cot. Drifting off into the Fade took mere minutes.

Everywhere he looked, he found pain in the Fade. He shouldn’t be surprised. The area had a long history and was home to countless spirits. Somewhere, deep in the unending mists, the ancient spirit of Indifference lived here. It had existed when the Veil was just the beginning of an idea and he couldn’t imagine a world in which the millennia old being didn’t slumber. But Indifference’s creation had nothing to do with the younger spirits here.

Fear, grief, doubt, sorrow, anger; Crestwood was not a peaceful place and the number of Rifts across the relatively small space didn’t help. He spoke with a spirit of Rage for a while as it acted out the memories of a boy and the darkspawn that took his siblings. Grief-soaked emotion had given the spirit its shape ten years ago. Now, the boy was a man but his heart was the same. The dead shambled through his home and he burned with anger at what amorphous forces led them there.

Rage spoke of all the pain and fear that had fed the boy’s anger over the years. Solas listened and tried to understand how something could be so powerful yet separated from the Fade. He left Rage with the memory of a boy burning corpses and continued his wanderings.

“Hello,” A tiny wisp popped up in front of him.

“Hello, little one.” He greeted it. It was too small and weak to truly have an identity but there were the beginnings of something.

“You need to help. Make Despair stop.” The wisp spun as it spoke, the Fade equivalent of fidgeting.

“Ah, I don’t think I can. There has been much to despair over. The Fade will remember it.”

“No, don’t erase it,” The wisp sighed. If it had eyes it have would rolled them. “just make it stop. it’s making her remember things that didn’t happen here. Please stop it.”

Solas didn’t quite understand but he agreed to follow the wisp. Perhaps a dreamer was being hounded by this Despair. He hadn’t remembered any mages among the agents stationed here but that didn’t mean there weren’t. There could also be an apostate living in Crestwood village. Whoever this mage was, Despair was never an easy demon to resist.

The wisp led him through the Fade. He could feel a growing sense of dread as they drew closer to the spirit's territory. It was powerful and old. It must have existed for centuries and was now glutting itself on the pains of Crestwood’s history.

“It’s in there.” The wisp hid behind him as they drew closer. His guide was hardly necessary now. Snow had started to fall around them and the memory of cold sunk into his bones.

“Thank you. I’ll find it from here.” He patted the wisp.

It wavered. “Are you sure? I can still come along. I can help. It’s making her feel bad.”

Yes, there was certainly something in this wisp, Compassion or Sympathy.

“This is a powerful spirit. It could hurt you.”

“You’re right.” The wisp reluctantly agreed and vanished back into the amorphous currents of the Fade.

He stepped forward into the dream and felt his surroundings shift as he sunk into its reality. His feet went numb in moments as he slogged through the knee-deep drifts. Around him, the familiar peaks of the Frostbacks hemmed in the sky. Footprints diveted the snow in front of him and in the far distance he could see a silhouette struggling through the snow.

Solas could only think of one person who Despair would torment with a night like this. He shoved the false snow away from him and ran forward. This demon was strong. It had enough power to create this scene for Lavellan and fight him at the same time. Could it have drawn her into the Fade itself or was his Anchor changing her?

Lavellan dropped to her knees. She was still too far away and the demon’s nightmare was fighting him every step of the way. He didn’t have time to outthink it and twist the dream to his benefit. If the demon made its offer now…

A gust of wind nearly knocked him off his feet and he stumbled back a step. A half-felt presence drew close to him.

“Very rude,” A spectral voice chided him. “trying to interfere where you’re not wanted. Maybe I should make a trap for you next?”

 Before he could snap back at it or attempt any spells, a voice caught both of their attention.

“Cassandra! Cullen! I’m here, help me!” Lavellan had stumbled to her feet again. If she was remembering how these events had gone, she must have some lucidity. Perhaps she even knew a demon was playing with her.

Torchlight illuminated the snow. It glittered against the crystals and brought a sense of warmth. Solas could make out a few familiar shapes conjured into existence next to Lavellan. The Seeker swooped in to support her and Solas breathed a sigh of relief.

He had half turned away, ready to find the wisp and thank it when the scene changed again. Flagstones and rough-hewn walls with filth covering them sprang into existence. The cold lifted some but it was replaced damp and a thick sense of fear. But worst of all, there was Red Lyrium growing from the walls. An aborted scream cut the air and he spun back around.

At the end of the corridor, Cullen had been replaced by Dorian. Cassandra was dashed against the floor with blood leaking from her cracked skull. Dorian tugged on Lavellan’s arm in an attempt to drag her away from the Seeker’s corpse.

“Herald, we have to find Alexius!” He urged. “We can stop this from happening.”

This would be the dark future that they had seen in Redcliffe. There would be plenty of fodder for a demon of Despair here. He sprinted after the retreating shapes of Dorian and Lavellan but the corridor twisted and stretched as he chased them

“Really, stop this.” The demon hissed. “I would have been satisfied with just her but if you want to join so badly, I could make something for you. I can see so much despair in you, _Harellan_.”

A door slammed in front of him, separating him from the two figures he was chasing. He rattled the handle uselessly for a moment before collecting himself. He was no half-blind mortal who feared the Fade. He was one of the People. Pride was not proud without reason. No puffed up sense of hopelessness would outwit him with the idea of a door. He pressed and the door remembered break into tiny bits under a battering ram.

He stormed into the hall but he was too late. Despair had finally shown himself. The false Alexius was taller and broader than in Solas’ memory and there was a distinct blue-grey tinge to him. He loomed over the two figure on the ground. The staff held loosely in one hand had blood coating its bladed end.

Lavellan kneeled on the ground, ignoring Despair in favor of focusing on the conjured version of Dorian. She pressed her hands to his throat but even from this distance Solas could see it wouldn’t have done anything.

“Such a waste. He was such a promising boy.” The false magister drawled. “But he was just a boy, and my apprentice at that. You didn’t really expect to beat me with magic I perfected? I sent you here and I wasn’t about to let you simply hop back and stop this.”

Lavellan’s shoulders slumped and she let her hands slip away from Dorian. Solas crept forward, hoping to drawn closer to the demon as it was distracted. His foot struck something soft and he glanced down.

He was sprawled against the ground.

It wasn’t truly him but the resemblance was enough to startle him. The double’s neck was snapped and it stared blankly upward. Its eyes were still glowing with a red light. He remembered Lavellan's and Dorian’s reports about what had happened. He knew that the alternate future had Alexius forcing him to eat Red Lyrium but seeing it now, knowing that it had truly happened and that he had not been able to stop it…

“There’s no way back. There’s no way to fix this.” Despair was still speaking. He tore himself away from his false corpse.

“Your clan has been slaughtered. Your friends are dead. Everything you’ve ever known has ceased to exist. There is no saving this world. There is nothing you can do.” With every words, the demon added power, planting emotion in him and in Lavellan.

“No, I have to keep fighting.” Lavellan insisted. She folded her bloody hands in front of herself and focused on them rather than the false corpse in front of her.

“Why?” Despair asked. It crouched next to her and cupped her face gently. “It is so much easy to stop your struggle. Let the fight stop and understand that you can’t solve everything. The world is broken and there is nothing anyone can do to heal it. Your failure was always inevitable. Why fight? Give up. Let go and I can make all this pain go away.”

Lavellan shivered and closed her eyes but didn’t pull away.

“But, this didn’t happen.” She whispered.

“You’re right.” Solas snapped himself out of his thoughts and pushed himself forward.

“Solas? But-” She flickered her gaze between him and the false version behind him. “This is another dream. This is the Fade.” She shoved herself away from Despair.

“Really? I had put so much effort into this.” The demon sighed.

“Your failure is inevitable. Maybe you should give up.” Solas sneered. The demon glared at him.

“Your wit does you no-” An arrow buried itself in Despair’s neck. It choked around the object and clutched at its throat. Another found its chest before Solas recovered enough to act.

“Lavellan, stop!” He darted between the demon and the elf.

“Why?” She growled. She kept her bow drawn and lifted her aim over his shoulder. “So it can find someone else to play with? So it can possess someone new?”

“This spirit has existed for centuries.” He countered. “It may be the only one who has seen the things it has. It dies and its knowledge dies with it.”

She narrowed her eyes. It was clear that she didn’t find his argument convincing but she lowered her bow.

“You have anything to add to this, demon?” She called out.

“I have seen a great many things.” It replied carefully. It let the appearance of Alexius melt away and the illusion of Redcliffe faded with it. Or maybe it didn’t have a choice in the matter. Solas could feel it weakening. Mage or not, Lavellan had enough faith in her shot that her arrows had made an impact on Despair.

“Anything useful or will you just moan about how life is meaningless?”

“But the lives of so many are.” The demon insisted. “I’ve seen kings long forgotten who led wars that won nothing. All those lives of their soldiers, what did they lead to? A cause that didn’t matter. And your Anchor? How did you get it? More struggle for a purpose with such belief behind it and yet thousands have died without changing a thing in this war. Not even the most powerful woman in the Chantry.”

“Seen anything other than kings that don’t mean anything?” Lavellan asked coldly. “Because that’s not exactly the sort of thing I’d mention if I was selling my ability to offer _meaningful_ information.”

“I offer a truth. The Fade made me what I am. I had no choice in my existence. I _am_ what the world is. Despair is inevitable but I can offer peace in the acceptance of that truth.”

“You weren’t enough to stop me.” Lavellan pointed out. “Rather undermines your point. You’re not an inevitable truth. You’re not even enough to save yourself.”

She loosed her arrow and Despair shattered.

The jagged fragments and dust motes of power spun in place. For a moment, he could see everything that had made Despair. Then, it disintegrated into the Fade. The remnants of the illusion around them blurred and melted, returning to a more natural reflection of Crestwood. Solas stayed frozen in place.

She had killed it. With barely a moment’s hesitation. The existence of an entire being with hundreds of years of knowledge had been placed in front of her and she destroyed it. Everything about it was scattered into the winds of the Fade and would never exist in the same way again.

Shock turned to anger and he spun to face the Dalish. She was gone. Her presence in the Fade had left. With a snarl he yanked himself awake. The canvas of the tent blocked all the starlight. He summoned a ball of magelight only to find her cot across from him empty.

“Solas?” Cassandra sat up and squinted at him. “What is happening?”

“Nothing.” He snapped and rolled out of bed.

He swept the flap of the tent aside and saw Lavellan’s silhouette retreating.

“Inquisitor!” He hissed and hurried after her.

She didn’t react, just kept walking away with her shoulders stiff and her hands fisted at her sides. He reached her at the boundary of the camp and caught her elbow.

“Why did-” He was cut short as she slammed into him. At first, he thought it was a shove or a tackle but she lingered. Her arms wrapped around him tightly and her chin dug into his shoulder. Her breath hitched a beat later and he realized what this was.

Instinctively, he returned the hug. The anger left him as she remained there. Distantly, he was aware that he was wearing nothing but loose trousers and his wolf token. A drop of warm water hit his back and he made a soft shushing noise.

Lavellan pulled away and pressed her hands to either side of his face. She stared at him in the faint light.

“I lied.” She said after a moment. “I hate the Fade. Fake things feel too real and real things even realer. I don’t know how you enjoy it.”

“Because it _is_ real.” He whispered, real as the fact that she had just executed something that had lived for centuries.

“No, it can’t be.” She closed her eyes and dropped her hands. “You were dead. Cassandra and Dorian and Mahanon were dead. I was freezing to death and Alexius won. That wasn’t real.”

“Despair was. As was what drew it to you.”

“Don’t remind me.” She rubbed the heels of her palms into her eyes. “It played with what’s real. It didn’t show me any truth.”

“To you; yes, but not to Despair. You heard it. ‘I am the Truth.’ That perspective is as real as yours in the Fade.”

“Yes. In the Fade.” She snapped. “Which isn’t here and doesn’t matter in the end.”

“Despair’s death matters.” He countered.

She glared at him. “Yes, and so does that fact it tried to possess me. How many do you think it already had killed? How many more would it?”

“And so you killed it? Made yourself judge, jury, and executioner?”

“Yes.” She answered without blinking.

He tried to respond and managed to make nothing but angry noises. He turned away and took a step but couldn’t leave.

He swallowed and found words. “Do you truly not see that you destroyed something? A person? An entire being?”

“I do, believe me.” She sounded like she meant it. “If a spirit is person, an ‘entire being’, then it has choice. We’re all products of our environment, it’s not excuse for a spirit to destroy other ‘entire beings’.”

“Hundreds of years of experience,” He whispered. “snuffed out in an instant.”

“And how many years has it destroyed? How many would it? At what point do you judge the life of one over the life of another?”

A chill ran down his spine. In another world, another time, another language, he had heard those words said before.

He turned to face her. In the darkness he see the glimmer of moisture in her eyes and the indistinct shapes of her face. Her vallaslin was nearly invisible against her dark skin. For a moment he could pretend that it was that other time.

“ _Ir abelas, ma vhenan. Mar dirth ena tel’varas_.”

He stepped back to her and pulled her back to his chest. She resisted for a moment but relaxed into his arms.

“I should not have mourned Despair’s death, given the circumstances.”

“It was a person.” She shrugged.

“It was a person who was trying to kill you.”

She laughed weakly. “That’s rather my point.”

He ran his fingers over the loose hair across her shoulders.

“It was drawn to you.” He stated.

“You said that the Anchor changed how I am in the Fade.”

“Yes, but that’s not what I meant. I was drawn to what you felt. To despair.”

“Redcliffe was hardly a cheerful place when we were last there.”

“True. Neither was our escape from Haven.”

“Oh. You saw that?”

“Yes, did it show you anything else?”

She didn’t answer for a long time but he didn’t press.

“Some things from my past." She said it with forced casualty.  "Templars came for my brother and nephew years ago. The hunters and warriors managed to fight them off, in reality. We had to run and we nearly lost Hal’lin but no one died. Before that it showed me my- one of my clanmates dying. Despair showed me failing. I couldn’t fight the fever that killed Taellavon and I couldn't fight Templars. Not when there were a dozen hunters and hundreds of them.”

“Hundreds of Templars? Perhaps an overreaction.”

She chuckled. “It would have been. There were only eight of them but not when Despair showed me it. I just- I feel like I’ve failed them. My clan. I’m here when I should be with the rest. You know how dangerous the area around Wycome is right now. Even if they’re safe now there’s no guarantee.”

Solas swallowed around the lump in his throat. What could he say to that? Even if they sealed the breach, there still wouldn’t be a guarantee. The short, misguided lives of the Dalish were always dangerous. If they didn’t survive it wouldn’t matter. But if they did and he got his focus back….

It wouldn’t matter. He would fix this world.

“You know your clan.” He eventually said. “You know what they’re capable of and what they can do. The best way to guarantee their safety is to stop this unrest. Which is what you’re doing.”

She shifted in his arms and turned her head so her cheek rested against his collarbone.

“Thank you, Solas.”

He untangled from her and took her hand.

“Come. Let’s go back to sleep. I’ll find you in the Fade.”

Cassandra was waiting with a lantern when they returned to the tent. She eyed him suspiciously but didn’t say anything. Inside, he saw the tail-tell glimmer of reflective eyes from Sera’s cot.

“Don’t worry, Cassandra.” Lavellan waved off the Seeker’s question before she could even ask.

“Friggin’ tits. Just go to sleep.” Sera grumbled. “Trying to enjoy an actual bed, here.”

Lavellan gave the end of Sera’s cot a soft kick. “And we’re stopping you?”

“Lizards,” The younger elf warned. “so many lizards.”

Returning to the Fade took longer than it had earlier that night. He kept listening for Lavellan’s breathing. He worried that she had fallen asleep before him. It was silly. She had survived for months now without the Anchor drawing many other demons to her. If the display with Despair meant anything, she could handle most hostile denizens of the Fade.

When he did finally drift off, she was nowhere to be found. The Anchor left its tell-tale impression on the Veil but the person who came with it wasn’t there. He waited for her to join him and debated whether he should cast a sleeping spell of some sort. Movement brought him back to his physical body. His blankets were pulled aside letting in cold that was immediately followed by warmth. A body pressed against his. Solas blearily opened his eyes and began to sit up.

“Shh, it’s just me.” Lavellan curled against him. He inched sideways and rolled to make more room for her. Somehow, they managed to fit on the cot together.

“ _Uthen, Vhenan._ ” He whispered. Just a touch of magic behind his words and she drifted away.

He found her in the Fade moments later. He didn’t pull her consciousness to his, just watched as she dreamed without disturbance.

-

“You agree, right? There’s no way that was enough time.”

“Sera!”

“What? Just, the- the logistics or whatever. Not enough time.”

“Don’t pry.”

“We’re gonna be sharing camp with them all the way back. If they are finally frolicking together under the moonlight like elfy elfs, I wanna know. Get ear plugs at the least.”

“Do you truly think they would be so indiscrete?”

“Nah, you’re right.”

“Is this revenge?” Lavellan’s voice echoed against his chest when she spoke.

“Good morning, Your Inquisitorialness!" The cot rattled and jerked him fully awake. “It absolutely is! And you’re still not safe from lizards. It’ll just be a double hit now, yeah?”

“Double retaliation then.” Lavellan rolled off the cot. He tried not to miss the warmth.

Sera blew a raspberry. “Whatever. Are we still trudging around in Mud Town or are we going back home, now?”

“More Mud Town, sadly. At least it’s not raining.”

Sera blew a louder raspberry and continued to do so as she left the tent.

The rest of the morning progressed as it usually did in camp; food that managed to at least contain some flavor, biting chill that didn’t care one bit that they had been asleep moments ago, and a layer of dew over everything that left a persistent feeling of damp. Despite the discomforts, Solas couldn’t help but like he had gotten a better night’s sleep than he had in centuries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Mar dirth ena tel’varas" approximately 'my words were unfair'  
> "Uthen"- Sleep  
> Pieced together from canon translations


	4. End of Journey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update a few days early because I'm on the edge of civilization atm and won't have internet access in another 15 minutes. CW for reference to possible non-consensual sex and possessive behavior.

_“Halam’shiral”_ She whispered it under her breath, probably not intending for him to hear but his horse was close enough to hear. Lavellan had been sober for the entirety of the ride through the Dales and he doubted her solemn demeanor would improve with their journey’s end. The Winter Palace was meant to elicit an awe-struck response from its viewers but he suspected it hadn’t worked on her.

From a distance, both literal and metaphorical, the palace sat like a jewel in a crown, surrounded by a city older than Orlesian Empire itself. And now, over seven hundred years since the empire absorbed the Dales, a Dalish elf was riding back into the city.

He would have laughed if it didn’t all seem so inconsequential. He still remembered when these hills were part of Adahl’Talls’an, the Place of the Green Trees, a different jewel in the crown of a different empire. For a moment, he felt just as sober as Lavellan. These forests had belonged to the People once, thousands of years ago. Now, there would be a battle for the future carried out here.

And battle they did. It was far less bloody than a usual battlefield, yet incomparable to the graceful court machination that had defined Arlathan. After the Duchess was exposed and Lavellan had done her best to maneuver more power into Briala’s grasping, fumbling hands, he found her alone on a balcony overlooking the dark forests.

The empress’s ‘arcane advisor’ was exiting the balcony as he approached. Lavellan leaned on the balustrade, looking out over the green hill of the Dales. After a long night of fighting both political and physical, he expected she was exhausted.

“I’m not surprised to find you out here.” She turned as he spoke. “Thoughts?”

“I have a feeling this isn’t as large a victory as we want it to be.”

“There’s much, much more trouble ahead.” He agreed. “ For now, focus on what’s in front of you.”  He rested a hand on her back. The cloth of her uniform was warmed by her skin despite the chill in the air. He rubbed circles with his thumb and she leaned into his touch.

The band finished its tune and a round of applause trickled out of the ballroom. An impulsive thought crossed his mind.

“Come, before the band stops playing. Dance with me.” He held out his hand.

Lavellan looked at him strangely. “You want to dance in front of the whole court minutes after we killed one of their favorites?”

“I care more about my partner than my audience.” He was immediately struck by how foolish he must look, asking her to dance after her last spin around the ballroom ended with her partner dying.

But she stepped forward and took his hand. They kept to the balcony as they danced. The music was faint and the air was cold but for a brief moment, it felt as wondrous as dancing in Arlathan. It ended too soon. Josephine came looking for Lavellan a few minutes later and she dropped his hand like a hot iron. The ambassador pulled her away for a while, then Leliana wanted to compare notes about what secrets they had unearthed, then Cullen and Vivienne both wanted to speak with her. He lingered nearby but by the time he finally had her to himself again, the sun was turning the sky a milky blue and her exhaustion was showing visibly.

He offered her his arm and they made their way away from the ballroom. Her hand stayed on his arm as the carriage that had carried them to the ball was readied. She leaned against his chest as they were carried through the even streets of Halam’shiral’s pristine upper district. By the time they reached the estate of their noble ally, she was half asleep.

Neither spoke as they walked through halls to the guest quarters they’d been given but her hand remained on his. When they reached the branch in the hallway which would lead to their own personal chambers, she slowed for a second. He leaned into her shoulder and turned toward her room. She shut the door firmly behind them and shucked off her dress coat without a second thought.

It would be no different than sharing a private tent while in the field, he told himself. They had even shared a bed in Skyhold one afternoon when he found a particular memory of a traveling Avaar tribe from the Storm Age he wished to show her.

But it would be different. His thoughts once again returned to ancient Arlathan, of courtly wooing that lasted for decades and brief affairs which lasted for a blink of the eye before becoming inconsequential footnotes in the relationships between individuals who would live for millennia.

This wasn’t Arlathan. This wasn’t a tent in the field with colleagues sleeping mere feet away and only oiled canvas between them. This was a private room with a bed and a person for whom a decade was nearly a third of her life. There were moments in his life where he didn’t know what to do. They were rare but they existed and this was one of them. Was she expecting sex? Had he missed some vital cue which had made the perceived nature of their relationship more clear to her? He didn’t even know if he wanted to involve himself that way with her.

On the most carnal level, of course he did. Part of him had seen her grace and beauty and wanted it from the moment she had first leapt into battle outside of the destroyed Temple of Sacred Ashes.

On an emotional level, he loved her and wanted to make love to her. He could practically hear Sera blowing out her cheeks at him but it was true. Perhaps it was the contrast between her vivacity and the dullness of the surrounding world. She felt real and her presence felt like a respite in this strange, emotionless world disjointed and disconnected from half of itself.

But on an ethical level, he couldn’t. She didn’t truly know what or who he was and he knew without a doubt that her Dalish brainwashing would lead her to reject him outright if she did. He couldn’t lay with her when he was keeping something so essential from her, not when so much of the chaos around them could be traced back to him, including the mark on her palm which could very well kill her if he couldn’t find a way to remove it.

“Solas?” She had exited the connected washroom wearing loose sleeping clothes. He had stood stock still, stuck in contemplation for too long.

“Excuse me, Lavellan, I should return to my rooms.”  It came out sounding wooden to his own ears.

“Please stay.”

He shouldn’t. Sleeping next to her in a tent was intimate but he could always draw that line. Walking with her in the Fade under the pretense of teaching her was different. But there was no excuse to lay next to her here. He didn’t even want to think what stories would begin to fly once the servants reported to the rumor mill that his bed had remained undisturbed. In truth, probably nothing that wasn’t already assumed by those already in the deepest circles of gossip.

He shouldn’t stay.

But he did.

With the candles extinguished and the rising dawn blocked out with thick curtains, the room was near pitch black. He could just barely see light peeking under the door and the draperies. Far more pressing was the weight and warmth of her body pressed against his chest.

“Have you seen memories of Halam’shiral and the old Dales in your travels?” She asked quietly when the world had fallen away to nothing but the sound of her breath and his heart beating too fast in his chest.

“Yes, would you like to hear of one?”

He picked over his memories of Adal’Talls’an and eventually decided on one of a sage who had lived on the banks of the river that flowed out to the planes in the west. The meanders had warped and twisted the flow of it but now it was once again lapping at the same stalwart stone mountain as he remembered thousands of years ago. He recounted the sage’s travels and their allegorical encounters with three separate spirits of wisdom, focusing on how his voice echoed in the dark room.

He finished and she remained silent. No follow up questions or clarification, no picking at the details asking how much had really occurred and how much had been added to the narrative by memory.

“What is wrong?”

“This whole thing stings.” She said in a low voice “We’re in Halam’shiral and today is supposedly a victory because we won Orlesian support. All it cost us was a few dozen elvhen servants. I keep trying to look back and understand how this all happened but nothing seems to agree. My people call ourselves the Dalish but we started when the Dales _fell_ , when ‘Halam’shiral’ was proven false. ‘Shiral’ is what defines my clan.”

He bit his tongue to avoid correctly her conjugation of the verb.

“We try to preserve what we had in the Dales but even that was an attempting pulling together a culture from fragments. I want to be able to look back at our history and see what is true but it wears away with time. What does that mean for us? If we managed to bring peace now but what’s to say that it will last? In a hundred years, there will be a new conflict tearing the world apart. I feel so useless.”

Despair had found her in Crestwood and he could see why. Was it irony that the one individual who carried the power to reshape the very nature of this world felt useless or was it just a cruel trick of fate? He, more than anyone, knew what sort of power she held. Three thousand years ago, he had tried to fix the world and had made it worse beyond his imagination. Now, the very same power rested in her hands and she feared that her future would be as bleak as the one he had created.

Despair had found her in Crestwood and she had defeated it, she could defeat it again.

“The future cannot be swallowed all at once, Vhenan.” He said quietly. “I’ve seen enough time to know that actions will always have consequences far beyond intention.  All we can do is see what comes as it does and work from there. Trust in the future and your ability to ensure it, Vhenan.”

She stayed quiet for so long that he wondered if she had fallen asleep. He lifted his head slightly to look at the other side of the bed and saw the faintest shimmer of light reflecting off her eyes.

“Lavellan?”

“Go to sleep, Solas.” She whispered and resettled herself closer to him. She slept too fitfully for him to engage her in the Fade when she finally drifted off. A few hours after, he blearily struggled to open his eyes as he heard her speaking to someone.

More light was bleeding under the curtains but was out shown by strong swath of bright golden sunlight from the door. He listened, half awake, as she spoke quietly. It must have been a servant of some sort judging by their conversation. They relayed information about departure times and caravan sizes succinctly as Lavellan hummed occasionally to confirm her undestanding. He was considering falling back to sleep and maybe looking for fragments of the pre-Orlesian Dales she seemed so interested in when the click of the door and the absence of light caught his attention.

The mattress dipped and she tucked herself up against his side. He turned toward her and draped his arm over her hip with his head resting near the nape of her neck.

“Does duty call?

“Not yet. Josephine’s arranged for us to depart the day after tomorrow. We’re to meet with some Orlesian allies and sympathetic Chantry clerics before heading back to Skyhold. We might have spent the morning sleeping but she hasn’t. I swear, if Corypheus had managed to recruit her we’d already be dead.”

He laughed and she shivered slightly as his breath brushed the back of her neck. He pressed a kiss to her nape and she shivered again, stronger this time. The room was warm and quiet, the bed was soft, and his mind felt sleep-loose and carefree.

A second kiss, closer to her ear and she started to roll onto her back. He lifted himself up on his forearms so they were face to face in the near complete darkness. He overshot his first lunge and kissed the edge of her nose but her lips were easy enough to find from there. Without light or conversation, his attention narrowed down to the feel of his lips on hers and her body under his. He traced his fingers down her side and felt the warmth of her skin through her thin shirt. Almost instinctively, he rolled his hips up against her side. The muscles in her abdomen tightened and her breath hitched.

“Solas,”

Nothing would ever sound as wonderful as his name on her lips. She pressed her palms against his chest. He trailed his hand lower under her waistband.

“Solas!” And her hands pushed him backwards.

The acceleration of the scene broke the moment he heard her tone. He reeled back and squinted through the shadows that had seemed so perfect a moment ago. Her weight shifted against the mattress so she was resting against the headboard. A gap had opened between them with only darkness between.

“I’m sorry.” She said. “I thought- listening to your conversations with Cole…”

“Lavellan?”

“I thought that you wouldn’t be interested in that sort of physicality.”

“You mean sex?”

“It’s never been something I especially enjoy.” She said quietly.

He blinked and wondered for a moment if this was another symptom of being born to a broken half-world. But that wouldn’t make sense, clearly others enjoyed the act.

“So you have…”

“In the past, it was always for a purpose and with how Cole described his feelings and you described things in the Fade…This isn’t the Fade, I know, I just- sorry.”

“Don’t be. I should have broached the topic earlier.” He knew his voice sounded strained but he hardly had the focus to fix it. His mind raced. Was this a consequence of his Veil? Probably not, considering the number of explicit tales he had overheard in the past. Then this was a trait unique to her but was it the result of past actions? If something had happened to her in the past- he didn’t want to think about that.

“Is this going to be an issue?” She asked, as if she already knew the answer.

“No, ma sa lath.” He reached out a hand carefully in the darkness. “Of course not. I should not have-”

He should not have tried at all. For months, he had told himself that he would not lay with her while she believed him to be anything other than the bogeyman her backwards culture had created. No matter how close he let himself get, she still saw a spirit walking among mortals, not what he truly was. He did not lie to her but he was still withholding the truth. Yet all it took was a dark room and a soft bed for his resolve to fray.

She moved closer to him and soon her head was pressed against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her back nearly out of instinct and tipped them back to lay against the pillows.

“I’m sorry.” She repeated. He wondered how many times her preference _had_ been an issue for a partner. The thought left a sour taste in the back of his mouth. The idea of her suffering past abuses blew air onto the ember of rage that always smoldered in his heart. At the same time, something petty and jealous in him hated the idea of her with anyone else. He wanted her to be his and no one’s else for eternity, to walk with her through the paths of life until it was time for them to find Uthenera and to sleep next to her for the remainder of eternity. The idea that some shemlen calling themselves elvhen would ever lie with her, perhaps without her consent, made that rage spark up all the more fierce.

He pulled her close to his chest so he could hear her heart beating and whispered this all to her in the language she should have grown up knowing.


	5. Trickster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a weird chapter. It's rather short, nothing happens and all the actual post-Adamant stuff happens in the next chapter (which is late).

“ _Harellan_ ,” The name had hurt many times before but hearing her say it stole the very breath from his lungs. Once, it had been a nickname, a little joke between those close to him but that had changed. They had been working quietly in her chambers, simply existing together but that easiness shattered with her one word.

“I’m assuming that it doesn’t mean the same from the Nightmare as when the Dalish say it.”

“No, it would closer to ‘trickster’ or ‘liar’ than ‘monster’.” He answered bitterly.

“I think ‘traitor’ is closer when we say it."

He had no reply to that. Was he a traitor? Was he a monster?

The Evanuris had trusted him and he had used that trust to stop them but his loyalty had laid with Mythal. They were the ones who had betrayed trust when they killed her. Yet, he owed so much to the Elvhen, the true People of this world, and he had turned his back on them.

“Which word did the Nightmare mean?” She asked

All of them.

He was a trickster. He had spent too long enraptured by his own cleverness, thinking that could fix everything. It had been a trick that had finally trapped the Evanuris and their equally dangerous enemies. It was the same trick that had destroyed his own home.

He was a liar. He had lied since his first encounter in this time, about everything from his age to his desires. The lies had started long before that, when he spun elaborate webs of half-truths to get what he wanted. Even if he had promised he wouldn’t lie to her, he lied to everyone she relied on.

He was a monster. The Dalish stories wouldn’t string half as much if they didn’t contain half-truths of their own. He had locked away the Evanuris and doomed the world to mortality. What was that if not monstrous?

And he was a traitor. Even now, he knew he would have to betray at least some of her trust.

“Solas? You don’t have to answer. I didn’t mean to pry. Well, I did but because I’m worried.”

“Liar, it probably meant liar.” He answered. “Though, traitor…”

Her book snapped shut and he looked up to see her standing up from the bed. She crossed the room and carefully capped his ink pot. Lavellan sat on the edge of the desk with her knees pressed against the arm of the chair. His hand itched to move a few inches and rest on her leg.

“I know you keep your secrets, Solas, but why would the Nightmare call you a traitor?”

His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He wanted to tell her everything, to break through his wall of secrecy and dump out a thousand years of regrets. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. He wanted to answer but he couldn’t lie to her.

“Because I’m the only one left.” It was the truth, though he didn’t know what she would hear from it.

“Oh, Solas,” She drew his hands out of his lap and held them in her own. He squeezed her fingers tightly and closed his eyes as she slid forward, off the desk, to rest her head against his shoulder. He doubted it was comfortable for her, kneeling next to his chair with a hard wooden arm between them but the warmth of her forehead against his chest dulled the memories that were trying to flood back.

“Come back with me.” She said. “When this is all over and Corypheus is dead. Come back to my clan with me. I can't promise you won't die alone but you won't live alone."

 “Live with your clan?” He repeated. His first instinct was to say that this would never be over. His second was to say that he’d never live with the slavery-worshipping Dalish.

She pulled her face back and looked him in the eye.

“Come home with me, Solas, please.”

Home.

Home was a ruin that was buried under a hundred feet of water in the Venefication Sea. Home was long gone but- home could be waking up next to her for as long as time would allow him. Home could be rebuilding an empire with her at his side. Home would be a relief from all his regrets and pains.

“I would love to.” It wasn’t a lie.

She smiled and something clenched in his heart.


	6. Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally wanted this chapter to be before 'Trickster' but it took a lot longer to finish. Oh, well; chronology isn't much in this.

‘Din’ was the only word he managed to catch in the prayer. Of all the words which had lost their meaning, death had to remain unchanged. The Dalish didn't understand what it had meant in the days of the empire and their worship of Falon' Din (a false fried of there ever was one) stung but it was the same word. Why was she speaking of death?

Lavellan stood and stared at the base of the ash tree for a long while. When she turned he could see tear tracks on her face. Her face closed into her cool Inquisitor’s mask the moment she saw him on the trail behind her.

He could see a small pile of rocks partly obscured by her legs. The halla figurine she had spent majority of the journey carving stood on top.

"Have I interrupted something?" He asked diplomatically.

"No. Nothing relevant to false callings or demon armies." She said stiffly. She shifted her weight slightly, blocking more of the rock pile.

"The Dalish practice Vhen'Adahl differently than the elves of aliens ages, correct?" He had hoped it was an innocent question but she scowled

"Stop, Solas, not now." She pushed past him and walked the trail back to the rest of the procession without looking back once.

The light was quickly falling but he could still see well enough to inspect the pile of stones. He knelt and lifted the small carving off the top of the shrine.

'Shrine' seemed the best word for it. Each stone was carefully nestled in with the ones above, beside, and below in a well-built pyramid of smooth river rock. A slight breeze blew past and picked up a small ash leaf that had been placed pinned under the halla. He just barely caught the name ‘Taellavon’ scratched in with charcoal before the leaf spun away.

He returned the halla to its spot and walked back to camp. The light in her tent was extinguished and the flaps tied shut. He unfurled his own bedroll (only slight musty from lack of use) under the shared awning and settled down for the night. It felt strange sleeping alone for the first time in over a month.

The halla and the leaf continued to itch at his mind until the Veil ripped open again and he remembered- Despair, the fever she couldn't kill, and Taellavon, whoever he was.

But the Nightmare was a far more pressing concern. It hissed its taunts and the Fade fought against him. Their path wound past memories and fears. A broken, burning Aravel crackled beside the image of a fracture Pentaghast family seal.

Lavellan didn't comment, even when the Lady Seeker asked her point blank if that was what her clan used. In the afterwards, when the landscape was more solid and fears were easier to hide, she disappeared into the cliffs surrounding Griffins Wing Keep. Cassandra covered for her, claiming the Inquisitor had urgent business elsewhere, when asked but Solas could see shoulders clenched tight as she left the safety of the walls, alone.

He followed Lavellan’s footsteps through the sand and to the boardwalks that clung to the cliff face below the keep. He would have missed her completely, tucked away in a little crack as she was, if she hadn't spoken up.

“Hello, Solas,”

She had her legs pulled against her chest and her back pressed against the stone. The air was cooling rapidly as the sun set but the rock was still warm.

“You put on a brave face for the soldiers at Adamant.” He commented

“Their hero couldn't be seen as anything but what they needed.”  She scowled.

The huskiness in her voice made her sound even more bitter. He could make out the shape of her face more than the color but he had no doubt that her eyes were red and her cheeks would be patchy.

“There are no heroes here, Vhenan.”

She half-smiled and inched over so he could sit next to her.  The stone was as warm as her hip pressed against his.

“We burned an aravel when Tae died.”  She whispered after a long while of silence. “Loaded all the clothes and bedding the sick had used and burned it with the dead inside. We still buried the bones and planted the Vhen’adahls but we burned them- like shems. It's not the same.”

“How many died?”

“Three. Hahren Vellanas was old. He went first and said it was his time. Hal'lin's five-month-old was next. That was different. And Tae... his lungs would close up in cold weather and every few months he'd be stuck riding in an aravel when we moved because he was sick. We knew that he was vulnerable but I never actually believed I could lose him like that. It was a week from the first trader starting to cough to the day he said he knew he'd die. It never felt real.”

She faced forward, staring by over the shadowy chasm in front of them but her eyes weren't seeing it. Solas didn't speak, just sat with his warmth as a comforting presence

“The day on the edge of the Tirashin was six years exactly since his death. I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately- what he'd say if he was here- what he'd think of you... I miss him. Keeper Deshanna speaks of dead who don't rest easily. That includes Taellavon.”

“You were close?”

She laughed bitterly “We were married for just shy of six years. So; yes, we were close.”

A cold rush shot through his gut. He told himself it was surprise or anger at the man who had hurt her but he knew it was jealousy, pure and simple. I small, cold, greedy part wanted her to be his and only his, including the time before they had ever met. Lavellan wasn't speaking and he didn't know what to say.

“Ir Abelas,” he managed

She looked at him strangely and another long uncomfortable stretch of silence passed.

Darkness had fallen fully when she spoke again.

“What you said about spirits passing though the Fade- that they pass through it to whatever's Beyond?”

“Temporarily.”

“Do they ever get stuck? Lose their way?”

Without an oh so benevolent 'friend' of the dead to guide them? He bit down on the bitterness before he voiced it.

“Souls pass through. Spirits may impersonate a soul or an impression may linger. I have never seen one ‘stuck’ but I've yet to see everything this world has to offer.”

“Impressions of what? The departed soul or its emotions?”

“You're asking about a specific instance.”

“Yes,”

“About Taellavon?”

She pushed away from him and stood staring over the void with her shoulders hunched.

“When Tae died-” She stopped, swallowed heavily and continued quietly. “There were sick children. Little da'len who needed help. After Hal'lin’s little one we were all scared. Deshanna wanted to focus on them and try to save the children first- worry about adult second. Taellavon agreed. The clan mages threw themselves into their work but we didn't have enough and lyrium is impossible for us to get-”

She had to stop and breathe for a few moments more.

“Afterward, Mahanon had nightmares for weeks. It took forever for me to get him to talk but- he was having dreams about Tae blaming him.”

“Your brother is a mage?”

She nodded

“The clan second and one of Tae's closest friends. I had always dismissed the dreams as some demon looking for easy prey and finding Maha's guilt but what if it's not? We didn't bury him properly. His Vhen'adahl has bone and ash for its roots if not less. And if he did blame Maha? Why would-“

He stood and took her wrist. Her tight fist loosened and their fingers laced together.

“Guilt is a powerful bait, vhenan. And death would be like honey to flies if a demon wanted to cross onto this side of the veil.”

“You're sure?”

“Yes”

She squeezed his hand

“And my experience in the Fade are always here for you to consult.” He hoped his smile traveled to his voice since she was still focused on the chasm. In the distance, a quilback snarled at something that had drawn too close. Her head followed her ears toward the sound.

“We should go back to the keep.” She said.

“Not if you do not wish to”

“I'm alright, Solas. Just worrying too much.”

She cupped his face with her hands and inspected his face for a warm moment. She pressed her lips against his cheek and started the walk back to the keep with his hand held in hers.

Her step was lighter than it had been for days. She seemed at peace. He was anything but.

His mind reeled with questions about Taellavon (had he forced her to do anything she hadn't wanted? What had he been like? Were they at all alike? Did she still love him?)

And the spirit who had haunted her brother; spirits often lingered around death and guilt was an easy way in but that wasn't the only way emotion that could have called a spirit to the clan. If Taellavon, as he lay slowly suffocating to death, had remembered that all living things desire life- What would that do to him? Would he resent the mages that were sworn to lead and protect their clan abandoning him? Would he be angry at an old friend choosing to save another?

It was unlikely, but possible. He had told her the truth but it felt like a lie.


	7. Glorious One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be a long one. Also, all but one of the final three chapters is ready to go. Once I get Chapter 8 finished to my satisfaction I'll post them.

“ _Ir abelas, Haninen."_  Solas whispered under his breath as they charged toward the dragon. Next to him, the Iron Bull bellowed something about ‘ataashi’. It supposedly meant ‘glorious one’ in Qunlat. Somehow, through the ages, beings would always see the glory in the dragons, would look at them and see Gods.

Dragons were much like the People in this world; diminished, lesser, still holding a resemblance but lacking the substance they once had. As such, Solas had felt little guilt in killing the dragons in the Western Approach and in the Hinterlands. Hunting dragons in the time of the Elvhenan empire would have been a multi-year process with preparation and rituals and training before the battle itself was even considered. They were still dragons, however, and forgetting that landed him in quite a bit of trouble.

Or flung him into quite a bit of trouble.

In retrospect, it was highly embarrassing. They had barely engaged the Northern Hunter when he misjudged it. The Iron Bull and the Seeker were busy attacking its scaled feet while Lavellan peppered it with well-placed arrows from a safer distance. This left him to offer the warriors what protection he could while occasionally catching the beast with powerful spells.

He stayed behind it, out of sight while it was distracted with the swords slicing its toes. It whipped its head around when he caught it in the wing with a stone fist. He braced with a barrier ready, expecting it to send a wave of electricity at him. He wasn’t expecting its muscled tail to swat him like an annoying fly.

The initial hit didn’t knock him unconscious, just made him feel as if his bones had turned to jelly. As disoriented as he was, he still was able to process the fast-approaching stone wall as he sailed through the air. He wrapped his barrier around him and braced for impact-

-

The Iron Bull and the Seeker were arguing. They were hushing their voices and there was a faint echo. His head ached with each word and he felt disoriented, like he always did when he lost consciousness without returning to the Fade. More pressing, the rest of him ached with every heartbeat.

He pushed the physical pain to the back of his mind and tried to focus on what the two mortals were saying. Something about…Lavellan? She wasn’t present, he knew that much and they were talking about looking for her. Then where was he?

He pried his gummy eyes open and blinked at his surroundings. It was still dark. A faint flicker of torchlight made it an inky grey rather than a pure black but he could barely see anything. It was cool and the air was moist. He lay on a flat surface that lacked any padding aside from what was supporting his neck.

He started to lift his head and a bolt of pain shot down his back. He froze. Considering the medical abilities of this age, a spinal injury would be unrepairable. The pain guaranteed that he had some feeling but he needed to assess his injuries.

Healing had never truly been his strong suit. When calling anyone a ‘mage’ was redundant, it was unnecessary for People to learn more than the most basic of spells if they weren’t specialists. Still, he could diagnose himself.

Six of his ribs on his right side were cracked, most likely from the first impact of the tail. The muscles in his neck were strained but the bones were unbroken. He was bruised from head to toe and the lingering sense of wrongness implied he had been concussed. The delicate muscles along his lower spine were swollen and damage but, again; no broken bones. Tacky blood from split skin on his hip sank into his clothing.

It felt terrible but survivable.

He carefully began to knit the damaged muscle in his neck together again and sealed the skin on his side. It was tricky working on himself in the dark with no context and diminished power but he made it work. The concussion would pass on its own, as would the bruising and he could deal with broken ribs.

His two companions had fallen silent as he worked.

“Still alive over there?” The Qunari asked.

“Yes,” He gritted out. His teeth hurt. Why did everything always have to hurt?

Cassandra was at his side a moment later. “How are you? Can you feel anything.”

“Everything. Including all my bruises.” He began to sit up. She pressed a hand to his shoulder, stopping him.

“Wait. We’re going to send for a healer to check you over.”

“I already have.” He brushed off her concern. “Bruising and broken ribs.” Her hand lifted and instead helped him to sit up. His ribs ached and the newly healed muscles in his back twinged. The scab on his hip tore slightly as he shifted but he gritted his teeth through the sharp pain.

“Where’s the Inquisitor?”

Cassandra scowled and looked away.

“Your guess is good as ours.” The Iron Bull answered. “She played distraction for the dragon while we booked it. She was supposed to meet us here once she lost the dragon.”

“You left her alone with-” He jerked fully upright and promptly tipped over as his vision blacked out.

“Relax, she knows what she’s doing.” The Qunari shrugged, not a small gesture.

 “But we should be looking for her.” Cassandra insisted. “This has taken far too long. If she managed to evade it, she should be here already. If she didn’t, we need to find her.”

“How long have I been unconscious?”

“About a quarter hour.” Cassandra answered. “We were beginning to worry. How do you feel?”

“Concussed. I’ll recover.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Relief briefly made him forget all his injuries. A familiar voice came from further down the tunnel and the Inquisitor came into view at the edge of the torchlit area.

“Good to see you, Boss.” The qunari greeted her.

“Inquisitor, you managed to evade the dragon?” Cassandra asked.

“Yep. Lost her ducking into a cave further south of here. Sorry it took a while to find you but I’m fine. Are you?” She directed the last question towards him.

“I will be.” He assured her.

Her hands flitted nervously over his chest for a second as verifying he was still breathing.

“Are you able to walk at all?” The split on his hip would feel terrible but he would managed to reach the resources of Caer Bronach if they went slowly. His would feel his freshly healed ribs every step of the way but that could hardly be helped.

Rather than give a full report on his injuries, he nodded and said, “Help me up.”

Lavellan offered him a hand but it proved unnecessary when The Iron Bull simply scooped him up by the armpits and deposited him on his feet with ease. He leaned on his staff rather embarrassingly much and they walked at the speed of a three legged nug but they made it out of the cave without his ribs shattering to dust.

The slog back to Caer Bronach was tense. The Iron Bull’s enthusiasm for their last dragon encounter was nearly audible but the Qunari carefully avoided the topic. Cassandra took point without anyone asking her to and Lavellan stuck close to his side for the entire journey. She kept her eyes up and her ears sharp as ever when they travelled through hostile territory but she looked to him more than usual. The last dregs of the bandit troupe still occasionally were seen in the foothills but they weren’t enough of a threat to earn this level of attention. She was either keyed up over the dragon or his worsening limp. Judging by the number of times she asked if they should slow down, he assumed the latter.

Once inside the sturdy walls of the keep, one of the Nightingale’s agents pulled her away for a moment so he could slip away to the infirmary in private. A bit of bandaging on his hip and a few stays on his ribs and he would be fine. There was no need to worry the healers stationed here or have her fuss over him when there were more important things to worry about.

“I looked for you in the infirmary.” Lavellan said when she found him in dormitory hall an hour later.

“I passed through briefly.” He explained. “I just needed a few bandages. There is no need for me to stay under observation.”

“You’re concussed. That’s plenty reason to stay under observation.”

“And the only treatment- at least, treatment that works- for a concussion is rest.” And his other injuries were much the same. He’d sealed up the skin on his hip and the cracks in his ribs. Another few treatments of healing magic over his hip would prevent infection but the bruising and soreness would only take time.

Lavellan hummed disbelievingly. “Then get some rest. I’ll come back in another hour or so to check on you.” She patted his shoulder and reluctantly left the mostly empty room.

It was still mid-afternoon and light streamed through the arrow loops but he could feel his effort pulling at his limbs. It was humiliating. Once, he could have healed injuries such as these in minutes without a second thought. Now, his own Veil locked away his power and the drag of Uthenera held back even more. He settled himself on a spare cot, closed his eyes tight against the light, and drifted into the Fade.

He was in the middle of a conversation with the Rage spirit he had follow a few months prior when something him shook him awake.

“Solas?” It was Lavellan. Or, he thought it was Lavellan. He felt extremely disoriented. It took a few moments to remember that they were in Caer Bronach and- and he’d been injured somehow? It was the dragon, right.

“Solas!”

“Yes?”

“How many fingers?”

He frowned. “That test doesn’t actually do anything.”

“How many, Vhenan.”

“Three.” He sighed , though it took a moment to focus his eyes and see that.

“How are you feeling?” She knelt in front of him and every ounce of worry in her voice was visible on her face.

“Tired.” He answered honestly. “Things are bit sluggish.”

She placed her hands on either side of his face and leaned in closer.

“What are you doing?” He resisted the urges to both pull away and close the remaining distance.

“Checking to see if your pupils are different sizes. They’re not so at least there’s that. Are you sure that you don’t need to see any of the healers?” She brushed her hand over his hip. A small amount of blood had soaked into the bandages.

“I’m sure. I took care of that already.” Because he had, hadn’t he? It was only a minor injury. “And the only treatment- at least treatment that works- for a concussion is rest.”

“So you’ve said.” Her frown deepened. “Do I need to test your memory or balance?”

“No, just let me go back to sleep.”

Another thoughtful hum. She kissed the top of his head and stood.

“I’ll check up on you again soon.”

She followed through on her promise and even arranged for the on-duty guards to check on him periodically through the night. By the time the light of dawn trickled through the arrow loops, he was cranky, still exhausted, and feeling only marginally better.

The Iron Bull clapped him firmly on the shoulder when they ran into each other in the mess hall and he had to tamp down the urge to freeze the qunari's shoes to the ground.

“You know, we have a game in Par Vollen that you reminded me of.” The Qunari spoke far too loudly for so early in the morning.

“Oh?” Solas gritted out.

“Yeah, played with a little clay ball and some bats. You smack the ball at other players and- well, the rules are a bit complicated but I thought of you. That dragon would be excellent if it can swat something your size like it did.”

“I’m sure she’s flattered.”

The Qunari laughed, patted his shoulder with the force of a charging bronto and went to find his own breakfast.

Rather than return to his cot and try to get some decent sleep without interruptions every few hours, Solas climbed one of the towers and situated himself to meditate for a while. ‘Meditate’ quickly turned into light dozing as he struggled to stay focused through his drowsiness. At some point he definitely fell completely asleep because he had closed his eyes for a moment and then Lavellan was sitting across from him with furrowed brows.

“You’re not alright.” She said.

“I’m concussed.” He reminded her.

“Yes and that’s not alright. You look fevery.” He pulled his head away as she reached out the back of her hand.

“Just let me rest. I’ll be ready travel soon.” As long as that travel involved a lot of easy riding and little to no combat along the way.

“We’re remaining for at least two more days. Josephine’s arranged for me to meet with some of the local banns to discuss finding any more rifts in the area and negotiate management of the caer.” Her frown tightened at the eyes as she mentioned it. Admirable beginner or not, Lavellan would never excel at the Game or any other politicking on her own.

The frown lessened a bit as she looked back to him. "What’s the grin for?”

“What grin?”

“You’ve got this rather- smile on your face.”

“Rather what, now?”

“I was going to say ‘dopey’ but that would be beneath your dignity. How hard did that dragon knock you about?”

“I will be fine. Just let me sleep for more than an hour at a time.”

It was the wrong thing to say.

“Yes, because your brain could have been bleeding and I didn’t want to wake up to find you in a coma but that's not worth mildly annoying you. Actually, what would even happen to you if you fell into a coma?”

“I would wander the Dreaming until my body failed, probably choking on its own liquids and then I’d be dead.” He answered bluntly. “I’m _not_ possessing anyone’s body, this is me. I would die and, as much as I appreciate your concern, this is not the first time I’ve faced injury. I’ve dealt with far worse in worse conditions.”

“But you don’t have to!” She threw up her hands. “Sorry. I know, shouting doesn’t help. It just- not to sound morbid but you _crunched_ when you hit that wall and now you’re walking around climbing ladders. Part of me still thinks you’re slumped against that wall and it’s having a hard time catching up.”

“I managed to cast a barrier.” He said quietly.

“Thank Mythal for that.” She rose and stretched in the sunlight. “You’re going to be alright up here? Won’t pass out and start foaming at the mouth?”

“No, I will be fine, Vhenan.”

“Good. Back to watching Fereldans try to discuss land politics when ‘you knife-ear’ and ‘your worship’ are competing on the tip of their tongue.” She kissed the top of his head again and left the tower.

He settled against the sun-warmed stone wall and tried to focus again. His mind unhelpfully began to provide scenarios in which their positions were reversed. If Lavellan had been the one to ‘crunch’ as she put it…He would most likely do something very foolish. Too late, he realized he’d been a bit of an ass.

Fresh regrets or not, he must have drifted off because his next cogent thought was shaking off a rather nonsensical image of darkspawn riding druffalo into battle against bears as rain bounced off his face. The heavy clouds were back over Crestwood and the sun was beginning to set. Had he really spent the whole day here? He still felt exhausted and was beginning to feel a bit gritty. A quick trip to the washroom to clean up And he was back in the dormitory.

His dreaming that night were even less understandable and when he woke he had a terrible suspicion of why. His hip was hot and he could barely move it. He hobbled to the infirmary as quickly as he could and commandeered a work station away from a meekly protesting scout.

With his bandage stripped away, his suspicions were quickly proved true. The skin on his hip was closed but an angry, painful red color. The freshly healed skin puckered slightly and was swollen. He blinked dumbly at it for a moment and tried to explain how this could happen. He had cleaned and healed it properly…hadn’t he? His memories before and after the impact were fuzzy be he must have cared for his injury properly, it would be idiotic to not do so.

His hip seemed to disagree.

There were vials and boxes and jars of dozens of things in the infirmary but he didn’t trust half of it. He used a bit of lotus paste to numb the area but the rest he left to his own ability.

His own incredibly weakened ability.

He poured his magic into the skin and muscle around his hip then limped back to the dormitory to sleep some more. His eyelids were already drooping by the time that his reached his cot and he barely had the focus to wrap himself in a blanket before he was gone.

-

He woke up in the infirmary with a pounding headache, a terrible taste in his mouth, and the sinking sensation that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

“You’re awake.” He turned his stiff neck and squinted at the chair next to him. Lavellan was sitting with a thick tome spread over her crossed legs.

“That’s good, means I can ask you what in Elgar’nan’s wrath you were thinking aside from living up to your name, Solas.”

“Pardon?”

“The only reason I’m not kicking your ass back to Skyhold right now is that you just spent the last two days on death’s door. What were you thinking! Are you new to the concept of septic infection?”

“What are you-” He tried to sit up and found his arms were too weak to do even that.

“Your hip, the injury you told me was just some split skin.” Lavellan clarified. “The healer could see bone when he started.”

“Oh,”

“Oh? Why didn’t you get anyone to check you over?”

“I did not think it was necessary.” He admitted. If he truly had been unconscious for two days it was far more severe than we had first assumed.

“You were punted twenty yards by a dragon, Solas. You should have been turned to a paste but-” She cut herself off abruptly and pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. When she spoke again it was in a far more even tone.

“Speaking as the person who you more or less answer to, that was incredibly irresponsible. You failed to adequately recognize a problem and there were consequences. Our departure for Denerim will be delayed and resources that could have been used on unavoidable injuries were used on you instead.”

“And speaking as another?”

“I will speak as the person who loves you when I’m not tempted to slap some sense into you.” She snapped the book shut and left the room quickly.

Solas was left in the infirmary with nothing but a blank ceiling to look at and a tight-lipped healer for company. Said healer treated him like a child with burnt fingers every time he did manage to pries words out of her. She spread noxious tinctures over his swollen skin and tutted under her breath the whole time. The unimpressed look she gave him when he attempted to refuse her sleep aid was infuriating.

He disliked sleeping draughts in the utmost. They played with his mind and a disoriented conscious in the Fade was never a good thing. He gave in eventually when she threatened to find Lavellan.

He found himself on a balcony overlooking a  city of white stone and ashy wood sitting on the edge of the sea. Immediately, a painful wash of nostalgia hit him like a mace. This was Mythal’s summer residence outside the city of Velan Vir’hanin. How many seasons had he spent here watching, playing, and dancing in her court? It had been the most beautiful place he had ever known and he had been swallowed by the sea when Mythal’s enchantments died with her.

But why was he dreaming of this place? He had made no decision to relieve these memories and there was no connection in Crestwood to this place. Why was he here?

“Because you hold me in your heart.” A voice said, familiar but altered by a spirit’s control. Solas turned and saw what he had wanted for so long. Almost.

Lavellan, clear of the marks of enslavement and draped in the richest clothes Arlathan had to offer, stood behind him, looking more beautiful than he had ever imagined possible. Her hair was carefully and intricately tied back in a style that had died centuries ago. Her skin was flawless with not a scar or blemish in sight. Her face was painted to fit a court that had spelled the end for so many yet now seemed so welcoming. But- it wasn’t quite right.

A slight gold cast lit her face and eyes. The spirit stepped forward and took his hand. Music that he hadn’t noticed before filled the air and he took two steps of an old dance before stopping himself.

“What are you?” He pulled away and leaned over a driftwood balcony to watch the sea.

“You know what I am, Solas. Look at this all." It gave a little spin with arms outstretched. “This was the best life has ever been.”

“For me, at least.” He insisted. The spirit gave him a dubious smile and stroked her hand down his cheek. 

“This is what could have been, and I am Loss of What Could Have Been.”

“Very specific.”

“I’m very old and much potential has been lost.” The spirit sighed. In the memory- his memory- a storm cloud flicked lightning over the waves. The smell of sea salt and the taste of the water in the air made the scene almost feel like he was back again- back home. He allowed himself to take one more deep breath of the atmosphere before pushing away from the balcony.

“I would ask that you tell me what you gain from this before we continue.”

“Oh, Solas,” The spirit giggled and took his hand. The music still rang out clearly and she pulled him towards the dancefloor again. She lead him into the oldest waltz he knew of before continuing to speak.

“I gain memories and experiences but I doubt that is what you meant. I do not wish to take anything you don’t wish to give.”

“Then why am I here?”

“You could leave anytime you want, little wolf.” The spirit smiled. It was the exact smile he spent so much time wanting to see. “The fact that you haven’t left should prove something to you. I didn’t call you here. This is your memory and your dream.”

He was ready to dismiss the thought outright but stopped. He was concussed and drugged and ill. The Fade was showing him exactly what he wanted to see because he was showing _himself_ exactly what he wanted.

“There, you made the connection.” The spirit smiled and kissed his cheek quietly.

The song transitioned into another and she spun away while the shadowy figures of his memory exchanged partners. He dropped his hands and was ready to banish the scene when another figure stepped into the space in front of him.

“I apologize for calling-” He stopped mid apology. It wasn’t the spirit in front of him. It was the right face but- vallaslin marked her face, a small scar crossed her eyebrow, and her eyes had more red to their brown than gold.

“Lavellan,” a smokey figure of memory moved through him as he stood stock still in the middle of the dance floor.

“Solas,” She arched her scarred eyebrow and surveyed the surroundings. “Is this what you usually dream about?”

“No.” He quickly assured him. He was ready to release the memory but she spoke before he could do so.

“It’s beautiful.” She stepped away from him and turned slowly to take in the fullness of the hall.

“That it was,” He took her hand and smiled at the look of wonder on her face.

“Was?”

“This was a palace of- an ancient noble. It’s buried under the waters of the Venefication Sea now.”

“Mythal’s grace,” She whispered. “It’s amazing.” Sea breeze picked up her hair at the most opportune moment. Her long black hair was still braided and tied to suit the party and her dress had remained.

“I have to ask, though. Why this memory? Is this an apology for trying to scare me to death?”

“I didn’t- but I did, didn’t I.” He sighed. “Pardon me, I didn’t mean to bring you here.”

“Don’t apologize for this, Solas.” She drew close and kissed him, quickly and fiercely. “What are those instruments? I don’t recognize the sound.”

“Dobro, a similar instrument still exists in the Anderfels if I’m not mistaken.”

Her wide smile broke and she focused on something behind him. He turned and saw Loss of What Could Have Been.

“Do you see, Solas?” It asked. “I gain nothing but this moment.” Some of the façade fell away. The cloth of its robes blurred into its skin and the gold light filled its face.

“What’s that?” Lavellan asked.

“I’m something who’s attention you have caught.” The spirit smiled and gave a little wave. “Pardon the appearance. I was merely fitting in.” It took a few steps more and its appearance changed again.

A slim, blond haired elf with Mythal’s vallaslin and Dalish leathers stood in front of them. Lavellan took a rigid stepped back. Another swirl of shifting appearance and a child appeared on his hip. The child held onto the thin man with chubby fingers but spotted Lavellan and reached out with a gap-toothed smile and happy brown eyes.

“Stop!” Lavellan screamed. “What is that, Solas?”

“Loss of What Could Have Been, Kaianna Lavellan.” The spirit answered before he could. “Do not fear me. You cannot hide from your past or your future.”

“And you’re neither.”  Lavellan hissed and she reached for a weapon at her hip only to find nothing.

The spirit tutted and let its shape change back into something closer to what he had seen originally, with even less resemblance to Lavellan. The music and the dancing continued to swirl around them but it seemed less magical and more…indifferent.

“Why this, Solas?” She asked, determinedly not looking at the spirit.

“I didn’t mean-”

“He didn’t mean to, Kaianna.” It interrupted. “He didn’t know what he was doing.”

“And what’s your excuse?” She snapped at it.

It shrugged. “I’m simply am what I am.” It flickered into a different shape. A gangly teenager with brown-blonde hair and Lavellan’s nose. It only remained long enough for her to take a menacing step towards it.

“I did not mean to bring you here or to relive this memory, Vhenan.” He took her hand and stepped close, hoping to shield her from any more could-have-been's the spirit made up. “I don’t quite have my usual control.”

“Of course,” She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “Can we leave?”

“I promise I won’t show anything else!” The spirit interjected. It darted between them as a wisp of golden light. “I didn’t know how you would react. Usually people like to see what I can show them.”

“They like the idea of what you show them,” Solas corrected.

“Yes, that’s what I just said.” It cocked it’s spectral head in confusion.

Lavellan opened her mouth to speak but Solas squeezed her hand.

“Let it be, we could taint it if we’re not careful.” She didn’t seem convinced but didn’t say anything, just returned his pressure with her hand.

He lead her away from the dance floor and into the corridors of his memory. They were far emptier than they ever would have been when Mythal still held court here. It was simultaneously eerie and peaceful.

“That was Taellavon, was it not?" He asked quietly.

She didn’t answer, just nodded once.

“And the child it showed you-”

“We’ll talk about this later, Solas.” She pulled away. “Is there anything else you think I should see or can I go?”

“Vhenan, don’t push me away.”

She snorted. “That’s rich. And that was unfair, sorry. Solas, you’re drugged and concussed. We’ll speak in the morning, hmm?”

“If that is what you wish.” He held her hand tightly until her spirit left the Fade and her warmth was ripped from him.

Suddenly, the empty halls felt much colder.

“Solas,” A new voice called his name and a hand pressed gently on his shoulder.

“ ‘Nothing but the experience’.” He said. “Is this what you were expecting?”

He turned and the bittersweet smile melted off his face.

Loss of What Could Have Been stood in front of him as a gangly teenager with brown-blonde hair and Lavellan’s nose- and piercing blue eyes.

He didn’t run away but he didn’t exactly linger. He half-woke in the dimly lit infirmary and struggled to sit up but his limbs were heavy and his mind was muddled by the sleeping draught. He sat up clumsily and tried to stand but fell to the ground as his hip gave out. A pair of strong hands helped him back onto his cot and a soft, calm voice tried to speak to him.

Solas let the gentle voice lull him hack to sleep.


	8. Blood

“ _Lin,_ ” Lavellan corrects the child’s pronunciation slightly. “It means ‘blood’ in Old Elvhen. ‘Vallas’ and ‘lin’ together mean ‘blood writing’.”

Actually, it meant ‘written in blood’ but Solas doubted that he would be able to shut his mouth if he started to correct her. He rolled his eyes and decided to find a quiet corner until she was free again. They had been having a pleasant moment of relative peace during the festivities until the gaggle of curious children had found their hiding place.

It seemed like Crestwood had tripled in population once the dragon had stopped menacing the skies. The beast’s decapitated head was hanging off of the walls of Caer Bronach and an impromptu celebration had started in the village main. Music was playing, alcohol was flowing, and the cooks had brought out the best of Fereldan cuisine that they could muster on short notice. Honestly, Solas wasn’t impressed and had would much prefer to get some rest but Lavellan had asked him to stay for a while.

He ended up abandoning the peasant pleasantries all together when he saw Lavellan had gathered an entire horde of children and had begun telling them stories. He doubted she would get free for quite a while and retreated to the keep. He had half a foot in the Fade when Lavellan draped herself over his side.

“Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to get away with the Dalish version of The Knight Herself, Av’lin.” She announced as he startled awake. “I guess you get a lot of leeway when you just killed a flying deathtrap.”

“Yes, that can lend a fair amount of credibility.” He said. Though presenting ancient lies about slave markings rather eroded that. “You were describing your Vallaslin to one of the children before I left.”

“She seemed interested.” Lavellan shrugged. Her stance shifted slightly. He couldn’t help but dread her imminent defensiveness. His internal pessimist reminded him that she was Dalish and would never believe him if he tried to show her the truth. But, maybe. . .

“Vhenan, what do you know about the history of the Vallaslin?”

Lavellan sat up and watched him carefully.

“I know that they weren’t used under Tevinter control. After the establishment of the Dales, we began to mark the faces of adults as we had in the times of Arlathan. The designs match those seen in surviving images though individual clans have slightly different versions. The clans kept the markings after the Fall of the Dales while those living in human cities had to give them up.” She repeated it all back as if was part of a story.

“And before Tevinter control?”

“They showed devotion to Creators as they do now.” She frowned.  “What are you getting at, Solas?”

“The Dalish cannot help but add their own bias to fragments of history.” He said.” But I can show you things that have been forgotten for millennia.”

“Solas, can’t you just tell me?” She fell backward onto the bed with her face in her hands. “It’s half-way to dawn and I just want to sleep. Really sleep, not dream.”

“The Vallaslin,” He started but didn’t continue. How could he explain this? How could he explain that Dalish pride was built on the backs of slaves?

“There is a spirit in these parts.” He said. “One that has lived since the first Vallaslin marked the faces of the People. It slumbers deep in the Fade not far from here. If we ride to where the Veil is thin, I can find it and ask it to share what it knows.”

Lavellan sat up again. “’Share’, or ‘trade’?”

“Trade,” He admitted. “But this is not the first time I’ve seen this spirit and it desires only memories that reflect itself. It will be an easy trade.” She narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

“How far?”

“The wyvern grotto a few miles east of here.”

She sighed. “Alright, let me find my bedroll. I was really looking forward to sharing a mattress with you.

-

Starlight shone brightly and reflected light off the waterfall of the grotto. The two great monuments to Ghilan’nain stood proud and tall. The magic woven into their stone masonry kept them whole and impressive even thousands of years after their lady had been imprisoned. Solas wondered if Ghilan’nain had trapped the souls of servants who had annoyed her in these particular statues.

“It’s beautiful.” Lavellan remarked offhandedly as she set up their bedrolls in a dry spot.

“The Veil is thin here. Can you feel it?”

She paused in her work and tilted her head. Her brow furrowed with concentration. After a moment she shook her head.

“No, sorry.” He really shouldn’t have expected any better.

The night was warm and clear enough for them to sleep without a tent under a rocky over hang. He laid down wards at the grotto’s tunnel entrance, careful that the magic wouldn’t also ward away ephemeral visitations. Together, they bedded down with the babbling waterfall soothing them to sleep and the stars shining overhead.

As he waited for her to join him in the Fade he shooed away wisps and minor spirits that lingered around. They would only get in the way and there was the possibility that Indifference would be tempted into a snack if a particularly impertinent spirit tagged along and asked too many questions. The threat of his own strength would deter the ancient presence from ridding himself of any inquisitive annoyance Lavellan posed but he didn’t want to test it. He was no longer the powerful mage that Indifference would remember from the days of the Empire but the spirit didn’t have to know that.

After what felt like hours, she joined him and started, of course, with a question.

“So what exactly is this spirit?”

“Something ancient.” He answered as he began to lead them through the meandering paths of the Fade. “A spirit of Indifference from the days of the Elvhenan empire. It will likely ask for a memory of itself in order to see what I want to show you. Perhaps from you, perhaps from me, likely from both of us. Try to think of one now or it may decide to go looking in your head without your help.” Lavellan nodded and her mouth set into a severe line.

Indifference was indeed slumbering when they finally came upon it, the being spread so thing that it was barely comprehendible. For a moment, Solas feared that it may have gone the way of truly ancient spirits and grown so large, so deep that it became a part of the fabric of the Fade itself. Thankfully, as they began to step into its form, the spirit stirred.

It shifted and condensed and eventually presented an avatar in the shape of one of the old halla shepherds. The stylings of the rough clothes were foreign to even him. This may well have been the person who originally sparked the creation of Indifference.

“Hello, da’fen.” The spirit spoke with more than just words. The impressions of familiarity, surprise, and curiosity brushed against his mind. “It has been a while since I have seen you. I see that you have returned to the Elvhen shape. Are you once again walking in the world of the waking? And I see you brought a mortal with you. It does not carry the usual filament of magic that most do.”

“She is not a mage, ancient one.” Solas spoke and tried to control what presence he radiated. “We come seeking a memory, one of the rite of Vallaslin.”

Indifference paused it’s inspection of Lavellan, at least with its visible aspect. “Vallaslin, Vala’vir’din? Surely you have your own memories to show your short lived friend.”

“I wish to show the perspective of another.” He realized now that this was a terrible idea. Indifference did not care for his secrets or his plans. If it decided to reveal him or to twist their minds or steal all their memories and leave them like children, he didn’t have the power to stop it. He had been banking on his former strength deterring the spirit but that was no guarantee.

“Hmm, once again I find myself perplexed by your machinations, Harellan.” It radiated boredom and inspected its nails. “But no matter, I’m sure they will not affect me. I will show you a memory that you so desire. As long as it is traded.”

“Of course.” Solas bowed his head and focused on the memory he had chosen. He felt the spirit’s touch brush against the corners of his mind. This was the tricky part. He had to show enough for it to be satisfied and not go searching for itself but not too much that he revealed his own weakness.

The first Dalish clan he encountered did not care for his knowledge and wisdom. He had sought to show them all that he knew and teach them how to walk among dreams so that they could find the fragments of history they thought they wanted. The Keeper sneered at the truth that contradicted what her blind faith told her and called him a fool for daring to speak to spirits. The clan had chased out the ‘flat-ear; and called him an abomination.

The Alienage was even worse, if that was possible. The meek, sickly elves of Montsimmard had feared him like the Blight. No amount of healing spells or ancient crafting methods would convince them that he was useful. In the end, Templars had been called and attempted to drag him off to one of the mage prisons. Rather than see what the Elvhen mages thought of him, he ran and devoted himself to reviving the Agents of Fen’Harel who had created an order in his name. The elves of his age were indifferent to the truth, to their history, and to improvement of their own lives.

Indifference took the memory into itself and parted from him.

“Wonderful. The world shows what I am, more than even you believe.” The spirit changed slightly. It briefly mimicked a number of the people from his memory before resettling as a shepherd with a slightly different face.

“And now you.” It turned to Lavellan.

“Picture the memory in your mind's eye.” Solas coached her. “It will touch your mind with its presence. Don’t fear but keep your memory firm.”

“Do not fear, da’len, I wish only to see what you have seen.” Indifference extended a hand and Lavellan’s face stiffened.

Solas knew that his fear was clear as day to the spirit but he could not control it. Every heartbeat that the spirit stayed in contact he grew more certain that it would possess her or break her or-

Lavellan’s eyes jolted open and she took a step back. Indifference changed again. New shapes flitted by. A dark haired elf who could only be Lavellan’s twin brother, Taellavon, humans in rich clothes and carrying fine weapons, one hunter with blood on his lips and chest followed by another.

“Hmm, perhaps Disdain more than Indifference but no matter.” The spirit sighed. “I have seen much. Now, to show you what you seek.” It turned away and flirted through shapes and emotions as it summoned up the memory from its vast collection.

"That's it?" Lavellan whispered to him. "Just a memory." 

The shake in her voice told him that it hadn't been 'just' anything but he still nodded.

The presence returned a moment later and Solas prepared himself to remember what he had desperately wanted to never see again. Slavery had built the empire he had loved. The great, near-godly leaders of his nation were cold puppetmasters. All their glory was fueled by blood and pain. Vallaslin was the constant, visible reminder of that. He shuddered as Indifference implanted in his mind new memories of a child receiving markings, of whippings for disobedience, of a life of slavery that lasted thousands of years, of an old and beaten hahren slipping to their death off the scaffolding of the Evanuris’s most recent construction project. The memory ended with the painful breaths of shattered ribs as the ancient elf gazed upwards at the statues of two great harts standing guard over a holy grotto.

Solas blinked away the last vestiges of the memory and regained his sense of the surroundings. Indifference stood calmly in front of him with a bored expression. And Lavellan… She fell to her knees and held her hands tight over her mouth. Her eyes were squeezed shut but he could see the beginnings of tears leaking out.

“Vhenan, are you alright.” He knelt next to her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Is that what Elvhenan was?” She whispered. “Slavery and indifference? Were they really no better than Tevinter?”

“There was more, ma vhenan.” He promised her. “Much, much more but yes, lives were considered wealth. The Vallaslin was used by nobles to mark their slaves. They pantomimed devotion to a higher power while drunk on their own.”

She nodded slowly and stood. Her face was tear-stained but blank.

“Thank you, spirit, for your memory.” She said and gave a little bow.

“And thank you for yours, Tarasylen’Tel’as.” The spirit returned the bow and faded away. Lavellan stood stock still for a moment while he tried to find words to comfort her. Before he could, she vanished.

When he joined her, she was standing next to the water and watching the starlight shine off the waterfall. The two great halla statues were reflected in the rippling water.

“We got it wrong.” She said when she heard his footsteps. “We got it so very wrong. Elvhenan was no different than Tevinter.”

“I am sorry, Vhenan.” He took her hand and she squeezed it tightly. “If you want, I can remove the markings.”

She frowned and seemed to consider her words.

“No. I will bring this information to the next Arlathvhen. Would you agree to come with me? It’s only in a year’s time. If you speak of what you’ve seen and show the Keepers what memories you can, we can discuss what the Dalish will do.” They would scoff and call them both liars.

“But what will you do now?” He asked

She pressed her hand to her forehead. “We celebrate our heritage, the heritage of the downtrodden. Slaves from Tevinter, refugees from the Dales, outcasts from society today. That we were slaves in Elvhenan will be…difficult to take but we always knew that there had to be parts of our heritage that should be left behind." She leaned into his chest and continued.

“What we tell the da’len will change but Vallaslin means that I am Dalish and being Dalish means that I am a descendant of slaves and Emerald Knights both. The meaning has changed, just like our culture has changed. We are the Dalish, never again shall we submit.”

He nodded and took her face in his hands. He inspected her keen eyes and strong nose. He tried to see past the slave markings and see a survivor. Thousands of years and elves were still here, still surviving.

“Wait,” She frowned. “I didn’t ask Indifference what the stonemason’s name was.”

He laughed despite the mood and leaned down to kiss her.

They slept together under the stars and he wondered, briefly, how the other Dalish would react to her news. The future was as frustratingly uncertain as ever. What was certain was that she lay with him, close and warm and safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vala’vir’din: One who Travels the Path of Death.  
> Tarasylen’Tel’as: One who Holds Back the Sky  
> The last two chapters are done save a few more edits. They'll be up by the end of the month.


	9. Sorrow

“Abelas,” She called out to the Guardian as he walked away. “Ma serannas.”

“And I am sorry.” He turned away and the rest of the Guardians disappeared with him. If she did this, their role would be done, their duty fulfilled.  Lavellan took a first step towards the Well and he wanted to scream.

“Vhenan, please don’t do this.” Solas begged her.

“One of us has to.” She reminded him. She stood on the edge of the Well. It was a single step down but it felt as deadly as if she would fall a thousand feet.

“Then let Morrigan take it!” He said just as the witched suggested the same. Lavellan shook her head and turned away.

“No.” She said firmly. “Mythal enaste Elvhenan.”

She stepped into the pool and into her slavery. He couldn’t look away as the magic enveloped her, whispering through the air and fighting against the Veil. It hissed and he shivered at the power. She disappeared in the mist and he lunged forward but only a step. He couldn’t interfere, not with this. The mist dissipated and Lavellan lay on the dry pool bottom, motionless and limp. Solas’s heart leapt into his throat and he dropped to his knees at her side immediately. Irrationally, he had expected her vallaslin to change but Dirtha’men’s raven still marked her forehead.

“Vhenan! Fenedhis! Answer me.” She shook, almost spasmed and her eyes opened. Relief flooded through him but it didn’t last. Something had changed about her, something irreversible. He dreaded finding out what exactly.

The dread built as they escaped through the Eluvian, found their way back to Morrigan’s mirror in the garden, and return Skyhold to its usual bustle. It built to a near breaking point when she finally retired to her chambers that to find him waiting. He didn’t wait for her to speak, he couldn’t.

“I begged you not to drink from the Well!” He paced and avoided her eyes. “Why could you not have listened?”

“Solas…”

“You gave yourself to the service of an ancient Elvhen god!” He continued, the dread was quickly turning to fear outright.

“What does that mean exactly?”

He forced himself to face her. It was a mistake. The Inquisitor’s mask was gone. In it’s place, Lavellan was scared and confused.

“You are Mythal’s creature now. Everything you do, whether you mean it or not, will be for her. You have given up part of yourself. Mythal can command you and you have no choice but to obey. To _kneel._ ”

“The Creators are gone.” She insisted.  “And you don’t even believe in them.”

He had to stop himself from laughing. “I don’t believe they were gods. But they existed, Vhenan. They existed. Something created those legends. Not gods but- This is not the place for that. What matters is that you are bound to one of them now. You have the power of the Well, and Mythal has the power over you. What will you do with it?”

“Solas. You’re scaring me.” She sounded like it. “What does that mean? What do you mean about the Creators?”

He looked sadly back at her. There was no way for him to explain all this. He could not leave out the role of Fen’Harel and he could not lie to her with an omission of that magnitude.

“Tell me!”

He dropped onto the edge of the bed and tried to find the words. She had surprised him so many times before. Would she surprise him this time as well? The mattress sank under her weight next to her and he saw her face, a mix of curious and scared.

“The Veil was a mistake, Vhenan.”

“What?”

“Life was so different. It was _real_. Without the Veil it was whole. Spirits moved from the Fade to the waking without possession. Magic was as easy as breath in. Life was- I can’t ever explain.  Life was _whole_.”

 “What are we missing?”

 “Connection. The whole of the world spoke one language made of more than sound, lived in a time when to world of dreams and emotion were the same as the world of the waking. It was beyond comprehension but still the call of power corrupted.”

 “The Veil broke that connection?”

He nodded. “Life is a fragment of what it once was. It’s short and brutal and isolated

“Compared to how it was?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?” He took a deep breath.

“I did.”

“…what do you mean?”

“I created the Veil. Here at Terasyl’an Tel’as. I wove a spell, lay my traps, and broke the world.” The guilt he had done such a thorough job ignoring came rushing back with a vengeance.

“Why would you do that?” Her voice cracked.

“Because there was no other choice. The People were dying. The empire was rotting from the inside out. False gods and the indifference of power, squabbles for one more scrap of power as others starved. The same crimes of this world were made all the worse with age and scale.”

“False gods-”

He stood and resumed his pacing. “Mages, drunk on power. They hunted the Titans of the earth and drove the world to a breaking point in their greed. The Evanuris, who sought to become gods, enslaved the very People they claimed to protect. They invented Nameless enemies and twisted the world in their grasp. In the end, they did become gods, in a way. But they were still just mages.”

“ _No,_ ”

“Yes,” He snarled. The bitterness and anger flooded out the guilt. “Mythal was the best of them, the only one worth redeeming and they killed her for daring to restrain them. Dirtha’men suggested a poison but it was her own daughter who struck the final blow.” Andruil’s sneer returned to him and he shivered.

“You made the Veil and trapped the Creators.” She repeated.

Her voice was strained. He turned and expected to see tears. Her eyes were red and watery but she he stood stiff with fists clenched and face stony.

She stalked forward placed a deliberate hand on his wolf jaw pendent.

“You’re the one who created the Veil, locked away the Creators and betrayed the Elvhen people. I should have seen this, Fen’Harel.”

“I’ve hidden myself for a long time, Vhenan.” He gave her a bittersweet smile but she snorted.

“Is that part of your charade, too, Harellan?”

“No, never.” He cupped her face with one hand. She didn’t lean into the touch.

“I could never lie about this.” He promised her. “I woke and found a world of people who seemed as the Tranquil must to you but…you proved me wrong. I had never expected to find someone with such life in them, not here or in the life I lived before.”

For a moment her face softened but she was distracted, considering something. She lifted her marked hand up and inspected the Anchor thoughtfully.

“The orb that Corypheus uses. You said it was of Elvhen origin. He sought to bring down the Veil but it can restore it as well. It’s a key, as Dagna puts it.” She met his eye evenly. “Is this what you used to put up the Veil.”

“Yes,” He admitted. He took her hand and ran a finger over the mark, quieting a few unstable flares of magic.

“I placed part of my power into it to hold back the Fade.” He explained. “Too much in all honesty. After the spell was cast. I fell into Uthernera and only recently woke. Even now I’m weak. I have given all that I can to the Inquisition, do not doubt that.”

“Everything except the truth.” He flinched.

“And there’s one other thing I’ve been wondering.” She picked the wolf jaw off his chest. “Where did Corypheus get the orb- your focus? No one’s been able to answer where an ancient magister who, until recently, was imprisoned in the Deep Roads found an ancient Elvhen tool of such power, not even you. But I think Fen’Harel could answer this question.”

His heart sunk. He was trapped. He couldn’t lie, not now while stripped bare for her and he couldn’t hope for her understanding.

“The Dalish mythologies-”

“Answer the question.” She snarled and curled her fingers around the leather thong his pendent hung on. She pulled him in close and his heart leapt. He wanted to kiss her but he had never seen her so angry.

“So the Harellan truly is a traitor.” She growled. “You locked away the Creators and broke the world, by your own admission.”

“I locked away slavers.” He insisted. “I saved the People!”

“And Tevinter? The Shemlen? Where were you then, savior? Where were you when the Dales fell or the alienages were purged or the Circles enslaved our people once again! Where were you when Templars hunted my clan for weeks, chasing us across a whole country because they thought the idea of my nephew’s mere existence was an aberration in the eyes of their god!”

“Please, Vhenan, I had not planned on the humans. The power vacuum after the Evanuris fell was too great and I wasn’t there to stop the chaos.”

She let go of his pendent. “Where did Corypheus get your Focus.”

Solas swallowed. He could say he had lost or it was stolen. But he couldn’t.

“I was too weak, Vhenan. I couldn’t use my Focus.” He looked away, he couldn’t meet her eye. “The build up magical energy was too great. If I had tried to use it I would have been destroyed in the release.”

“Like in the explosion at the Conclave. Which is where Corypheus used it.” She reminded him coldly.

He closed his eyes. There was nothing he could say that would improve this situation.

“My agents manipulated the Orb into his possession.” He confessed. “He should have been destroyed in the explosion. I hadn’t planned on-”

“The Blight, yes, you didn’t plan on a lot of things.”

He looked back at her and had to turn away again. Not an ounce of affection showed in her face. It had been replaced by anger.

“Did you plan on the Breach ripping apart the world? On Corypheus killing thousands of people at the Conclave and casting the south into chaos? Did you expect that? My cousin died there. He came with me to see what the shemlen were going to do next and now he’s dead. I had to write to my uncle and say that he didn’t even have a body to bury. He’s gone along with the Divine and Cassandra’s lover and everyone trying to make peace. And I got this.” The Anchor crackled.

“Vhenan, please. I never intended-”

“What were you going to do with your focus once Corypheus was dead.” She demanded. “Were you going to fix your ‘mistake’ and tear down the Veil?”

“This was before I met you.” He reached out but she slapped his hand away. “I didn’t understand this world. All I saw was the fragments of mine. But I can fix this, restore the People.”

“By tearing down the Veil.” She shook her head. “You didn’t see the future Dorian and I did. The world was dead. You sacrificed yourself so we could escape and stop it from ever happening. That’s what you want?”

To stop this from ever happening. To stop millions of lives from dying in pain.

“Yes,” He answered with as much honesty as he could portray. “I’m trying to fix my mistake, Vhenan. I need to save the People. That’s all I ever wanted to do.”

“You’re not saving anything but your own consciousness. Tearing down the Fade would destroy us all. But you’ve already done this once, haven’t you, Fen’Harel?”

He flinched. She stared back at him with revulsion but the wetness in her eyes had turned to tears.

“Get out.” She whispered.

He stood and reached for words that weren’t there. Solas turned and walked down the stairs out of her chambers and tried not to feel like he was running away.


	10. Epilogue: Pride

“Solas!” She snarled it in a tone he had previously thought to be reserved for slavers and the false-god Corypheus.

But it was ‘Solas’ that she screamed, not ‘Fen’Harel’ or even just ‘Harellan’.  She used his name.

“I expect you have questions.” He turned and nearly collapsed. Green light leaked from gaps in her armor, wrist to neck on her left side. A slice from a dorf’len blade trickled blood down her left shin. Her eyes from tight with pain and rage. Deep bags shadowed them but she focused dead ahead at him. She was worn and battered but still beautiful as the day he first saw her bathed in the light of the Fade. Had it really been three years? So short a time for one of the People but so long for a shem’len.

His fingers itched to reach out and heal her wounds. The magic danced at the edge of his grip and the anchor on her hand reacted, reaching out to him with a crack and a burst of light. She trembled and her nocked arrow wavered.

“Vhenan, put down the bow.”

She snarled and released the arrow. It bounced harmless off his barrier and fell to the ground as she collapsed with the next rush of magic through her arm. It took only a few steps for him to be at her side with the counter-spell to soothe her pain.

She pulled away and he felt the pain of her rejection all over again.

“Don’t you dare touch me!”

“The Anchor is killing you, if I-”

“You’re killing me, Harellan. I trusted you once. I thought we both wanted what was best for our future. Your took the Eluvians from Briala. You sowed chaos at the peace talks. You betrayed us!”

“No, Vhenan, I was distracted. Now, I remember what I need to do. This world is doomed but I can stop it.”

She shook her head.

“No,” She insisted

“The Blights, the Veil, time itself has killed this world. I can return the world that was. I can save the Elvhenan.”

“But were still here.” She insisted. “We’ve survived this long. You can’t destroy us like this.”

“All your pain will have never existed.” He wanted her to see, to understand.  “All your lives will have never existed. That is not death.”

“You’ll destroy us.” She slumped against his chest. “It will be as if we never existed. All our stories, our homes, our lives…”

“You will be spared the pain of this world.” He assured her. He ran a hand down her hair. It was tangled and dusty be soft.

“You can do that already. Help us.” She begged.

“I am.” The last of her tension drained away and her arms fell to her sides. She shook in his arms.

His Focus called to him like never before. It was so close, so powerful. He almost believed he could save her while this world burned.

“I thought I loved you.” She said into his shoulder. “I thought the man named Pride was someone I could spend my life with.”

“You can, Ma Vhenan.” He held her tight  against his chest. “I can take you with me. Join me and see the world as it was meant to be.”

“My clan, my brother…” It was muffled but he heard the hope in her voice.

“I’m sorry. I am saving the People.”

“And that includes me? You’ll save me but you’ve abandoned the rest of us.”

“I’m so sorry, Vhenan.”

“I’m sorry, too. I thought I loved you.”

“Sorry for-?”

The blade snaked through the gap between his plate and mail. It cut his question short and the pain nearly blinded him.

“Harellan,” she whispered and twisted it.

He scrambled back gracelessly. A blade of Dalish make sat between his ribs. He yanked the ironbark out of his chest and slammed a crude healing spell into the bleeding wound. Lavellan screamed and curled into a ball with her hand reaching for her bow. He knocked it away with another spell and grabbed her wrist. He yanked her arm away from her body and gripped it tightly.

“You had the last piece I need. I could have used it to spare you.”

She spat at his feet and bared her teeth like an animal. The taut muscles in her neck her turning green.

He ripped his focus from what remained of her hand. Lavellan’s eyes rolled back into her head and she hung limp in his grip. One last time he entertained the idea of taking her with him. He could carry her through the Eluvian to his base, nurse her to health, and propose his offer one more time once she saw the world he wanted to make.

Her eyes flickered back to consciousness and her first expression was hate.

“Goodbye, Vhenan.” He said coolly and dropped her wrist. The ruin of her arm hit the ground and began to bleed onto the stone.

“I’ll stop you.” She promised.

“You’re welcome to try.” He turned and walked back to the Eluvian. The last world he heard was her screaming his name.


End file.
